Forget Me Not
by Captain101
Summary: A Taxi driver and an up and coming musician meet and their shared forgotten past begins to unravel. How Howard became James and Vince became Nate is a story that may take more out of the pair than they're willing to give - let me know about the rating.
1. Chapter One: The Taxi Man

**Forget Me Not**

_You took a mystery and made me want it_

_You got a pedestal and put me on it_

_You made me love you out of feeling nothing_

_Something that you do_

Chain Reaction – Diana Ross

Dust glittered in the air as the Nabootique seemed to sigh with relief. Silence stretched between its walls heavy and impenetrable. Objects that had sat despondent on their shelves for months, trying desperately to remember the shine that had once livened up their existence, now held their breath. The entire shop sat yearning for _their_ return, waiting patiently, trusting that all would not continue as it was. It could feel a change in the air, sense it. Sense that just outside, so very close by one of them was there… the dust glittered, the shop sighed, content. It could wait that little bit longer. Everything was unfolding just right… it could feel it.

Chapter One

The Taxi Man

It wasn't a pretty sight at all. Even from this distance he could see the shattered glass glinting off the bitumen and the torn and twisted metal flung in all directions. He hadn't seen it happen. Hadn't even heard it, which now that he thought about it, was actually quite preferable. The idea of hearing the screech of twisting metal and piercing screams in the wreckage didn't appeal to him at all. Even now, sitting mid traffic, listening to the whines and screams of bolt cutters and the jaws of death on warped metal his gut was twisting uncomfortably.

"What's happening?" his fare asked, peering over his shoulder to try and see better over the line up of cars in front of them.

"Not sure," he replied, eyeing his fare in the mirror. The kid was possibly the oddest thing he had ever had in his back seat, the Northerner thought half heartedly as he scratched his beard. The broken heater in the car was making the air muggy and thick, and being stuck in the line up slightly more uncomfortable. Even still, in his situation James couldn't complain about having such a fare. He was six hundred pounds behind and there wasn't much work he _could_ knock back these days… let alone as large a fare as this one. And it just wasn't morally right to complain about a car crash keeping up the traffic, even if he wanted to.

With a sigh he wound the window down, allowing the breeze in. It was rather cold, and yet worrying about the weather wasn't something James bothered with, especially when it was preferable over the smell emulating from the vents - just one more thing on his list that needed fixing, he thought, his frown deepening. Perfect, more money he just didn't have. It was bad enough his next payment was coming up soon, and a couple more fares like this one might just get him there. Maybe, if he was lucky - not that he was all that often. The heater was just more proof of that.

Though in hindsight, he was somewhat luckier than those in the crash…

_Face it Fountain_, he thought, _you__'__re still screwed. Maybe if it had been you up there they__'__d give you a couple more days to find the money__…_

"Bit cold, innit?" his fare asked leaning against the back seat.

"Not right now," James replied, glancing in the rear view mirror at the twenty-something blonde musician in his back seat. If the kid preferred the smell over the chill there was something right messed with his head, or his nasal passage. James could tell a lot about the kid just by looking at him. On the tall side of average the guy was slight and nothing too striking; though the eyeliner and tight clothes probably made him attractive in the circles he worked. The guitar case resting over his knees said he was musical and how he'd drummed his fingers annoyingly as they'd made their way across town made James think of a bass player. Now, parked in the line up, the kid was staring out the window. Airhead, James mused.

"It'll get worse though," he said more under his breath than to the fare.

"Weird name for a shop, ain't it?" the kid said all of a sudden. James frowned and turned his attention from the rear view to the shop the kid had been staring at, small eyes creasing to almost pin points as they focussed on the building.

"Huh?"

"Said it's a weird name for a shop, isn't it? Nabootique. Kinda cool."

"Sounds ridiculous," James said, glancing over his sun glasses through the glass over at the small shop. The red and yellow lettering gave it a sort of oriental appeal; it looked like it was probably run by out of touch hippies when it was open, but at this point the news papered windows and boarded up door told a story of ill repair. No doubt the drug money had run out and they'd been too stoned for the shop to have actually made any. It was the type of store James always expected to end in disappointment.

"I ain't been in Dalston in aaaages," The kid said, grinning.

"You ever lived in Dalston?"

"No," James muttered, ignoring the sudden niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Fact was, he couldn't remember ever driving out into Dalston. Usually he was stuck in Brent. But who was he to shove off a fare that was gonna rack up about fifty quid? No sir, James Fountain wasn't stupid, that's for sure. It'd been luck that he'd managed to pick up the little Camden Twat anyway.

"Nah didn't think so. You don't sound from round here."

"I used to live in Leeds."

"That's it! Haha, I knew it!" The kid laughed as the line began to move. James glanced back out the window as they drove past the papered window of the empty Nabootique. It was odd, James thought, if it'd still been open he might have taken a look (inside?) - even though there was nothing about the front of the shop that said it would ever hold anything to do with jazz; there was still something that intrigued him.

"Thought I recognised something about you. I got a mate who went up to Leeds for about a week and came back talkin' like you. Bleeding hilarious. He didn't think so. But then he didn't notice," the kid was saying more to himself than to James, fingers back to drumming against the guitar case.

James frowned and gripped the steering wheel as he turned off into the right street, there was something about flighty little fashionistas like this kid that drove him up the wall. Not that he'd driven many – he was after all a taxi driver in bleedin' Brent, not Camden. But even () so – just seeing them waltz up the street was enough to make him snort derisively. Why on earth couldn't they see that life was about living, not about … well, whatever they went on about, hair, or jeans or something.

"Here we go," he said, pulling the taxi over in front of a black and silver building. It sought attention to itself on the street during the day with it's black two story walls in a street of made entirely out of small run down and out boutiques and out of place houses painted different shades of cream and off white. Still, it seemed almost as derelict as the Nabootique had been. James was sure at night the place would attract far more attention and clientele than it's appearance suggested, with the neon lights - pastel and ugly now in the sunshine - illuminated and glowing when the Moon came out.

"Velvet Onion," the name flowed off his tongue and James felt the sudden urge to complement it with 'try not to call at four am this time()' that he only just suppressed. He bit back (down?) on his tongue, it sounded familiar as though it was something he'd said before. Not that he ever had… why on earth would he think something like that? Why would he ever _say_ anything like that? He lived in Brent. He'd never even ventured out this way before… And he didn't know anyone who'd even think about being up at 4am.

"Jesus Christ, this day just keeps getting better and better. Hope they know what they're doing," the kid muttered, staring wide eyed at the building. James jerked in his seat. He'd almost forgotten the kid was there. He coughed, clearing his throat.

"Why?"

"Looks shit." To be honest the building looked just the weird sort of place the kid would fit in with, but it seemed by the discontent look on his face it was less than satisfactory and nowhere up to standard. For James, the building was making his skin almost _itch_. He felt nervous and almost scared.

"Wouldn't know," James replied, turning around and quoting the fare. The kid nodded, pulling out a wad of cash from impossibly tight pockets and handing it over. One step closer to making the mark, but not close enough, James sighed.

"Hey, look thanks. Here – apparently we're playing here tonight," the kid muttered opening his guitar case and handing over a vibrant yellow flyer. James couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he looked down at it. Five people all practically identical stared up at him, each one of them carefully stylised in Photoshop so they were nothing but black shadows with illuminated features.

"It was a long way – I'll get you in free as a thanks for putting up with me." The kid smiled. James had to admit it wasn't often he was actually thanked.

"Yeah, whatever," James answered; he seriously doubted that _Blank Verse_ was going to be his cup of tea. A sudden crash jerked James away from the flyer as the kid slammed the door shut, just as someone emerged from the club.

"Alright Cash! You took yeh time!" James's mouth twisted as he watched as one of the kid's defacto's emerged. Slight frame, tight clothes and South London accent, the new kid was the same as his fare. The exception being that this one had a carefree spring in his step and his mop of hair was black and appeared like someone had taken to it with scissors whilst drunk. No doubt it was the look they'd been hoping for, because even at the distance as he pulled away from the sidewalk he could tell the kid was vain and probably put more effort into his hair than he did into most things in life. Still, James didn't really think about stuff like that. All he needed to live was petrol in the car, a couple of good jazz records and for Court to stop teasing him about his moustache.

That and to get his payments in on time…

His frown deepened and he tightened his grasp on the steering wheel as he turned the corner. That was the last thing he really wanted to think about. The wreckage was still only half gone as he passed it, though he determinedly avoided looking at it. Like his debts it wasn't something he wanted, nor needed, to see or think about. Nor did anyone else it seemed. Turning the radio up as he careened down the now relatively empty street, James felt his heart begin to pound faster and faster. Suddenly he couldn't help but stare as he neared the little shop again. It seemed so out of place along the street for some reason.

_Pull over._

Slightly stunned by the voice so clearly echoing in his mind, he gripped the steering wheel firmly.

_Go on. Pull over. Stop. You know you want to._

Want to or not, all James felt right at that moment was alarmed. It was almost as though his mind was talking to him. Like he had a second subconscious hidden inside his own.

_Pull over._

He couldn't help it.

He pulled the car over to the side of the street.

Fingers on autopilot, he turned the radio down, eyes drawn to the small abandoned boutique with its fading paint and newspapered front window. It captivated him, kept drawing him in. Before he knew what he was doing he was outside the car and across the road.

_Keep going__… _the voice hissed and then it stopped. One foot on the pavement, the other on the bitumen, he blinked as the sound of a door closing echoed in his mind, a slamming door, one after the other. Somewhat disorientated, he blinked furiously, snapping out of his daze, a thousand eyes staring at him from the papered glass. _What on earth am I doing?_ Glancing around him, small eyes darting to detect the slightest hint someone was watching him, he let a sigh of relief escape his lips. The world kept spinning, no one seemed interested enough in anything not entirely of their own volition, not that there were many people on the street anyway. James laughed, shaking off the nerves tensing up his shoulders. He didn't know what had gotten into him, didn't know what that voice had been, how on earth it had convinced him to stop - let alone get out of the car, but whatever it was had passed and there was no point dwelling. He glanced down at his watch as he crossed the road. All of a sudden the weight of the world was back on his shoulders, and the strangest part was that he hadn't felt it leave. It was ten to five… he had three days left to find six hundred pounds. At this time in three days he'd be… well to be honest he didn't have the faintest clue. But it wasn't good, at least everything he'd imagined in his head had made him cringe at the very least, and he was sure that while the bank was no longer permitted to use torture as recovery of payment, they would find a more than adequate way of making his life unbearable.

But little did James know as he pulled away to begin the drive back to Brent, flyer ignored on his passenger seat and mind firmly focussed on anything but his worries, the Nabootique, or the crash, that he had in fact been watched the entire time - a pair of eyes shone from the shadows of the adjoining alley. Nor did James know it wouldn't be the last time he saw the kid meeting Cash with a hurried "Cash, mate the owners insane! You do _not_ want to see him dance." Nor had it been the first time they'd met either. But James didn't remember that. James was oblivious to a lot, but things were in motion that nothing could intercept.

James didn't remember a lot of his life before six months ago. The life he did remember had been carefully constructed and handed to him on a plate.

And that plate had nothing at all to connect him to the old life echoing in the silence of the empty Nabootique, nothing to make him stop and think just why he'd found himself standing outside it for no reason. So he didn't, he just kept driving. And at the Velvet Onion, the black haired front man stood awkwardly behind Cash as a blue suited American danced. Neither James nor the Front man connected their lives to anything to do with the small empty boutique or the faded newspapers and Missing person signs pasted over the windows, nothing to connect them to where a pair of eyes stared out of the darkness after the retreating English taxi.

A lot of things had changed in six months and the catalyst had tipped the balance. The ride was about to start.

The Nabootique sighed, happy. Everything was moving.


	2. Chapter Two: The Front Man

Chapter Two

The Front Man.

_I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd__  
__You're gonna hear my voice__  
__When I shout it out loud__  
_

It's my life

Bon jovi

Nate Warner sighed as he swirled the brightly coloured toxin in his cocktail glass. He was bored. The club was empty and silent but for the clangs and muffled voices from the opposite end of the room, where Cash and Drew and Jess were setting up and Mick was in the office of the insane American who owned the place, leaving Nate with nothing to do; placing the microphone wasn't exactly the hardest job in the world and the others were too protective where their instruments were concerned to let him help. Besides, placing the mic was the last thing to do anyway, that way he knew where everyone else was going to be.

He wasn't even sure why he always had to hang around while they set up anyway, all it ever left him to was boredom and drinking, and today was no different. No one had said anything to him the whole time they'd been there - too enthralled in what they were doing to pay him any attention, so in his boredom Nate had started mixing anything he could find in the bar. It was an occupation that had lead him towards the curious side of drunk and the band was still too occupied to notice when he decided he wanted to explore the club.

There wasn't much to it - just a corridor of three small changing rooms backstage where he found some old flyers for some Norse Electro Circus or something in one of the cupboards and a bloody tennis racket under a cabinet. The manager's office was upstairs, as were the bathrooms, strangely. The Velvet Onion was a weird place, he decided, an overly weird place, but Nate's manager had said it had been a field day back in its glory days, barely a night without a full book or a full house. These days it was in ill repair.

When at last he'd surfaced from his exploration, the rest of the band were arguing over the position of the drum kit and they hadn't stopped. Admittedly it wasn't an overly large club, but it would do. It would be good to go back to a smaller gig; they'd been getting a bit up themselves as more and more people started showing up to the shows, screaming their names and shouting their lyrics. Back in the early days, when Nate had only just taken over as front man, playing a gig somewhere half this size and reputation had been a dream. Not these days, these days they had a record in the works – close to getting signed, a quick EP already recorded to help booking gigs - something that had worked surprisingly well. In the last five months they'd been going up and up. Not that they were nowhere near ready to play the Astoria. But all the same, success was on the horizon and they were all happy as Larry to let it flow. Let it come. Still, no one was game enough to mention their luck, for fear of ruining it, destroying what they'd worked hard to achieve. And tonight, as dingy as the place was, was just another step towards a solid fan base and an actual deal. No one was about to brush off Bob Fossil and his gyrating body mass for fear of ruining _that_, no matter how disgusting the guy was.

Nate shivered before downing the last of his cocktail. It fizzled slightly on the way down and filled his chest with a nice, comforting warmth that nothing else managed to do these days; not even a good song made him as content as a drink working its way down his throat. It was calming; music and performing only made him hyper and strangely hollow, like a marionette on strings, empty with something missing. He didn't like that feeling, but it was surely just a phase between anonymity and success. Fearing the bust up. Surely that was it. Or perhaps it was the stress of the job now. Because that's what it was, music was an actual certified job for him now – not just a dream. Not just music for music's sake, to enjoy. It was more than that now. He'd always dreamed that music would be his career; getting paid to do something he loved. And now he was, surely there would be some concerns. If you got something so easily, surely you would question just how long it would last. And if you were aware it would happen, then the disappointment wouldn't be so ripe, right?

Wrinkling his nose he leaned over to the calico Woolworths bag dumped on the bar and pulled out the assortment of magazines and papers, rifling through the out of date fashion tips and celebrity stupidity, finally coming across a half folded newspaper. Opening it up he gazed loosely over the front page. He wasn't overly interested, but all the same whenever he saw one he had to flick through. It was strange, a compulsion as though he was _looking_ for something. But whatever it was, not much really stopped him. There had only been a couple of articles he'd read and digested properly in the last six months that he could remember and none of them were overly relevant to anything at all. His constant travelling had made locating familiar homely stories somewhat difficult, and events such as a Gorilla in Manchester weren't really home orientated. It was a London-wide event that didn't have any real relevance to a wandering musician from the South. He wasn't even sure where he came from. London born and bred he'd skipped from foster home to foster home, so really the travelling life suited him. Don't get attached. That was ingrained on his brain. Don't get attached. But all the same, attached didn't mean he couldn't live, couldn't work – and work meant music, music meant band mates, band mates meant parties and girls and booze and the circle made Nate content for life as it was. But all the same, wary - as though it wasn't meant to be. Then again, he'd been feeling that for six months, six months at least, anyway. He vaguely remembered the same sort of feeling, narrated by the same sort of weird mantra before he'd left his relationship. But it was only after he'd walked in on Rahnee and some chav that he'd started running again, that he'd willingly returned to the mantra. _Don__'__t get attached_. Attachment meant you got hurt. He didn't want that experience again.

Chewing half-heartedly on his thumb nail, Nate flipped the page, London wasn't really _that_ exciting now that he thought on it. It had everything that allowed him to survive. But it felt empty. _He_ felt empty. He used to scoff that it was impossible to feel alone in a room full of people, but he knew all too well. It had just taken him years to figure out what the constant disappointment had been.

Leaning over he peered down at the page, a small article in the corner catching his attention with the accompanying photograph of a small man in a turban, _"Missing Man'__s Body Found,__"_ he murmured, reading the heading. _"__The Body of missing shop owner Michael Naboo was found yesterday just outside of London. The man went missing six months ago, along with his two co-workers, Harold Moon and Vincent Noir. Neither man has been found. The recent location of Naboo__'__s body has left authorities concerned for the well being of the pair. All three disappeared from Naboo__'__s privately owned boutique in Dalston __–__ Nabootique- six months ago following a run of odd murders in London__'__s outskirts. Their disappearance at the time was treated as suspicious, while the search for Noir and Moon continues, authorities now believe the hunt is for their bodies, following the current grisly find. Anyone with any information should call__…"_

Nate frowned, turning away from the paper. Just what he needed to cheer himself up, he sighed. Upside to it was that he was alive to read it. Bet any of them, Nore, Moon or Banoo or whatever his name was would've swapped anything to read it. He hated stories like that, but they intrigued him, they were the type of stories that usually caught his eye, interesting murders and robberies and disappearances. It was an odd obsession. Well, he wouldn't call it an obsession, but it was certainly a topic that caught his interest a fair bit. A reflection of his moods. He was happy enough, sure– at least on the outside, Cash and Mick had a habit of telling him to shut up – it wasn't healthy for someone to be so damn cheerful all the time. But that was only because they didn't see him in moods like this. He made sure of that. The mask had to hold. That was part of the charm and charisma about him. The mask never slipped, it never seemed to _be_ a mask. He was the charismatic front man. The mask was the charm. It was something he'd learned from the foster homes; if you looked happy they didn't bother trying to interrupt the flow. They'd leave you to yourself and let it be. It was one of the ways he'd learned to protect himself against attachment. If you looked happy they didn't try and break that up by connecting, and if you didn't connect it didn't hurt when you got packed up and passed on.

It was an outlook that was both a hindrance and a help, not that he was about to change it. Not now, not when he was, not when _they,_ were so close to stardom, to making it big and making something of themselves. Maybe if they made it big, if he made something of himself, then he'd be proud of what he'd achieved, then at least someone would be.

No, the mask couldn't slip.

"Ha! Done!" Drew crowed from on the stage, Nate turned to look at them.

"We are going to rock tonight, my friends! This place is gonna come down!" Nate half smiled. For a moment surrounded by Drew's honest enthusiasm he wanted the decaying nightlife of this old place to collapse in on him. Then at least it would all be over.

"Oh Drew shut ya hole!" Mick scowled coming in from the hallway that led to the manager's office.

Drew and the others on the stage sniggered.

"Enjoy the show, Mick?" he mocked, flopping down on the edge of the stage.

"That man is fucking insane," Mick scowled and this time even Nate couldn't help but laugh.

"You organised this, mate." Cash grinned, leaning against the mic stand.

"He sounded a little more 'there' over the phone. Not much – but a little. Besides, if tonight goes to plan we'll pack this place for the first time in six months. If that happens we'll get double what I had before – and that was enough in itself. The guy's mad – but if we can use it to our advantage I'll do it."

"You sure this place will fill, though?" Jessica asked, a small voice timidly asking the question they all secretly wanted to know. Nate could see it in everyone's eyes and in the small tense silence that lasted no more than a second. But in that second Nate felt cold.

"Yeah. They've been out of luck with good bands for months apparently – ever since the guy's best front man went missing from some store up the road, Nabootique I think it was, ever since he disappeared the place has gone to the dogs, haven't had a good show for ages. Not enough publicity either, but tonight's covered. They'll come," Mick said with a false air of security that no one fell for, but in true style Nate knew every one of them wouldn't ask another question. Save him. Something had suddenly niggled in the back of his mind. Nabootique – the shop in the paper.

"So this front guy worked in this weird shop, did he?" Everyone glanced over, questioning him like he'd just gone and dyed his hair bright yellow. "What? S'just a question. Saw an article in the paper 'bout some guy who worked in that shop. It's an odd shop and I was just wonderin'." He shrugged; the sudden awkwardness broke with a bark of a laugh from Cash.

"Yeah, I drove past that shop on the way 'ere. When we were waiting to get past that crash. Weird arse name, it is. Old boarded up shop, paper on the windows an all." Drew crowed from on the stage, Nate turned to look at them.

"Fossil said they all just upped and disappeared one day. Weird it is. But I think we should be focussing on tonight, right?" Mick said with a clap of his hands zoning into Manager Mick Mode, as Nate had dubbed it one night. The others seemed to forget the subject immediately and while something in the back of Nate's mind starting yelling and waving its arms frantically, Nate felt the thoughts fade, like someone was closing doors on that small lone screaming voice and he was drawn back into the desolation of the dying club.

"Nate – mate it's up to you tonight. Bring it all out, if we can rock this place we can rock anywhere!" Mick said with a grin, slapping him on the back and the last door slammed shut in his mind, the voice completely unheard. Nate grinned, the mask firmly back in place.

"No problem," he smirked pulling himself on stage and enthusiastically pulling shapes. The others on the ground resolved into laughter and in the corner of the club Bob Fossil peaked through a gap in the door and whispered something no one heard.

"_Vincie..."_


	3. Chapter Three: The Following News

Chapter Three

The Following News

_And through the fence I see a ghost  
Of a place that used to breathe  
You know it choked away the sun  
But we still had food to eat  
And now everyone is gone  
To a place that won't be home …  
Will they make it on their own?  
_

We'll be there when you're gone

The Goo Goo Dolls

The day had started slow and the chill in the air had done nothing to help James' increasing boredom as the day progressed. His back seat never seemed empty of a fare, and yet his mind kept buzzing like a bee was stuck in his ear, driving him steadily insane. It seemed as though each thought needed to pass through a wall before being allowed through to his conscious, and it made everything else seem slow to match. Back in Brent he hadn't moved outside the borders of the suburb, yet his mind kept wandering outside back to that odd little shop and the equally odd fashionistas he'd glimpsed. The closest thing he could relate to his sudden curiosity in that world, beyond corduroy and jazz nights, was that it was like an exotic bird sanctuary. In order to maintain the exotic nature of their existence they needed to remain inside their cage. A cage… he'd been slightly alarmed when that had first passed through his mind, but by the afternoon he was calmly settled on it. Sometimes the exotic needed to be kept locked up for their own good. He had been permitted to take a glimpse into their world, and all of a sudden whenever his mind wandered, it wandered to a dead little shop that seemed to breed in his mind an idea of fashion and magic. Everything that he associated with the fare and friend he'd glimpsed in Dalston.

Rapping his fingers on the steering wheel, James waited letting the boring chit chat of some random radio station waft throughout the car. The back seat was filled with an odd little man who wore large sunglasses on the edge of his nose, his hat drawn forward and his briefcase held close as though he was terrified someone was likely to take it off him. Once again travelling beyond the borders of his home suburb, the car was silent, as the small man had declined James' introduction to polite conversation, leaving James' mind to wander back over the Nabootique and the intriguing world of Dalston Trendies. So it was quite a surprise when James was drawn back into reality to the sound of the unpleasantly accented girl over the radio reading the news.

"…_Nabootique run by Naboo and his two employees –__ Vincent Noir and Harold Moon __–__ both of whom remain missing. In other news Police have additionally released a report into the robbery of the Manchester branch of Tesco__…"_

He chuckled and the guy in the backseat jerked suddenly. James glanced in the rear view mirror and he shook his head. He'd driven quite a few oddballs in his time, but this one was high on his list.

"How much longer?" **the man** asked, suddenly.

"Not far. Five minutes," James answered, turning back to the road. People were moving like ants on both sides of the street, caught up in worlds all their own.

Just as promised, James pulled over several minutes later and the small man disappeared in a rush, chucking a wad of cash in James' lap before he had the chance to call the fare.

He shook his head. Weirdo. Camden was equally as odd a place as Dalston had been the day before. People in bright clothes ran back and forward along the street on either side, bags clenched in both hands like their lives depended on them – in the same awkward fashion as the small man with the briefcase.

The backseat completely empty, he sidled along, taking his time to make a u-turn and work his way back the way he came. Changing the radio he left the station on whatever it landed on and the station chose something with a beat that reminded him of the Stones, almost poetic considering where he was. The song ended abruptly and James stopped his perusal for a moment to glance down at the dial as a voice rippled through.

"_The Body of missing Dalston man, Michael Naboo was found recently in the outskirts of London. Naboo who owned the Nabootique - a small second hand boutique, has been missing since June. Also missing were his two flatmates, Harold Moon and Vince Noir. Neither man has been seen __**since **__and authorities continue to fear for either mans__'__ safety. Anyone with any information should contact local Police.__"_

James adjusted the dial a little, the traffic moving **forward slightly**, forcing him to leave it between stations**.** **H**e sighed, mind consumed with the Nabootique, the small red painted shop with fading yellow letters and empty windows. A shop that small, mentioned twice in half an hour was odd, even for the same story, sad as it was. Even in his head the shop painted a sad picture, complementing the sad story that had been its end. The traffic moved forward **again** and James gunned the engine, the radio still buzzing noisily between locality.

"_Police have searched his London Boutique the Nabootique but their investigation has continued to produce no leads… anyone with information should contact – "_

James looked down at the radio, eyebrows raised in confusion. He wasn't imagining things but the dial definitely wasn't tuned to a proper station, and he was pretty sure **that** wherever he was didn't pick up stations on either side of where the dial currently rested. With a bemused chuckle he turned the dial a few more notches and let something that sounded an awful lot like Coltrane buzz from the speakers. _This_ station _never_ played anything but Jazz. Jazz 24/7 – and despite his attraction and interest in the small shop and its mysteries, altogether it wasn't essential to his life and the fact it kept following him was slightly disconcerting.

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in time to the saxophone solo echoing from the speakers, he let his gaze wander over the pavement either side of him. Life was slightly more refined here than it had been in the street aligning the Nabootique. While that had featured graffiti and music posters half posted over music posters**,** there was nothing of the sort here, here every poster had its own space and the walls were painted almost anything but white or brown, and along the way he'd seen more than one shop with a mural dragging in the customers with bright colours. London was full of different people. It amazed him at times the diversity of it all. If he hadn't plucked up the courage and become a taxi driver, he never would have known about people like that kid the other night, whose flyer still decorated the floor of his front seat, or Joey and Court and Franky. Nor would he have seen places like that little store down in Dalston or the street he was currently on. If he'd stayed in Brent like he'd first wanted, reminiscing in its likeness to his hometown of Leeds, things would have been harder on him than he really cared to think about. Altogether this job had done wonders for his social confidence.

"TAXI!" hitting his foot on the brake to the sound of a fierce whistle, James was slightly amused and alarmed in equal measure when a figure with a carefully styled mop of bottle black hair and painted on jeans and jacket flopped into his back seat and grinned into his rear view mirror.

"Where to?" he asked, altogether rather annoyed at the fact he vaguely recognised the kid as the guy who'd come out of the club the day before, when he'd delivered his last Trendy fare to its Dalston location. Annoyed or not, James wasn't quite ready for the address the kid said with another lopsided grin, blue eyes twinkling.

"Nabootique – Dalston, I dunno the address."

James sat almost frozen in his seat.

"Nabootique I said –s'in Dalston – near the Velvet Onion if that helps**,**" **t**he kid repeated and James jerked himself out of his lapse of concentration. He felt odd… Everything all of a sudden seemed to lead to this Nabootique. All of a sudden it felt like he had hives or something, like his skin was crawling and he needed to itch but just _couldn__'__t_. There was nothing to scratch – only it just felt like there should be. It felt almost ingrained in him, like he could all of a sudden feel a tapeworm in his gut. He shifted in his seat.

"I know where it is," he said, signalling to pull back into the main line of traffic. The kid looked up from where he had been rummaging in his bag – an almost dazzling grin plastered on his face as though he'd just told him that he knew some rock god or someone this kid would admire religiously… like Mike Jagger or whoever he was.

"Really? That's brilliant! Didn't think _anyone_ would know where it is!" **H**e beamed, flopping back on the seat to watch James, who shifted awkwardly under his gaze. The kid's large blue eyes made him uncomfortable. The way he looked at James **made** it seem like they were looking straight through him, right into the back of his skull and reading everything in there. Not that he felt right now that even _he _understood or even _knew_ what was going on inside his skull either. It was filled with some odd buzzing, making everything hard to concentrate on. It was so damn weird.

"Yeah, it's been on the radio though, and it's not a name you forget easily. Some of the other blokes might know by now," **h**e answered, the air horribly thick, not that the kid seemed to notice**;** he was watching James somewhat eagerly. It made him, if possible, even more apprehensive. After all, like the kid said, he wasn't sure anyone would know about the Nabootique, and yet it was following him. The small shop mentioned on every station of the radio he switched to, including one that hadn't even been a station at all, and now he was driving some kid to the very same place. He nervously glanced in the rear windscreen, scanning the other taxis behind him. The one directly behind had a large advertisement for some laser copy centre on the side and was happily sitting directly behind James' car. Not many taxis tended to do that. It was a fares game – the more fares you managed to get the more you got paid and it wasn't often some people slacked off for no reason other than the pace. It was just so disconcerting, of all the damn taxis around the kid had to get into his… some people would say it was Fate… James thought something more like Murphy having fun with coincidence. Or at least that's what he _hoped _it was. It surely had the opportunity to become more, and his mind had already come up with a couple of ideas – each one crazier than the last.

"Yeah, wouldn't know 'bout the radio." The kid smiled, surprising James. He fiddled with the mirror so he could directly see the kid and the kid him.

"Really?" he asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

The kid laughed.

"Sorry – it's just you look the type to know the radio back to front."

"I know," he chuckled and James felt as though he could almost lose himself in the sudden sparkle in his eyes. The kid raised his hand and ruffled it through his hair. It was an odd style – almost like it was growing out of some sort of drunk pixie… there didn't seem to be any straight symmetrical surface in it at all – it was all shapes and hacking and he knew immediately, even by the lingering smell of hairspray that this 'mop' took longer than James took to get ready in the morning and out the door. All the same, it suited him and he took a lot longer than was polite (or safe, considering he was driving) to watch it settle.

"I don't listen to the radio – at all, really. I just listen to the greats – like Bowie and Jagger, an' I got my cds for that. Don't need nothing else," he said with a happy smile, turning to watch the outside of the car again and playing with an odd pendant around his neck.

"So, don't mean to pry – but er, just wondering why you wanted to go to the Nabootique?" James asked, somewhat nervously. It wasn't a common experience for him these days to feel so uncomfortable talking to a fare. There was just something _unsettling_ about this one that made him jumpy. The feeling as though he had hives suddenly erupted again and he gripped the steering wheel unnecessarily tight for a moment. "Do you know anyone there? Because I drove past it the other day and I can tell you this much - its dead, closed, boarded up and all. Looks like it's been that way since they all disappeared," he said; trailing off a bit at the end in an attempt to try and not to sound too… enthused? No, that couldn't be it. But there was something about this kid that just made him feel all over the place. He'd never felt so out of place and yet strangely… at home – especially inside his own car.

"Who?"

"You know, the owners, that Nabloo or whoever he is they keep blabbing on about," he said, signalling and turning off the main street. He always preferred the back streets, and often his fares didn't have a clue it added about 2 pound to the journey, but in all respects he just liked the quieter roads. Most of his fares appreciated it a bit too. This fare, he could tell, wouldn't have a clue whatever he did, though by the interest he was taking in the houses flying past it seemed the backstreets had more interest than the main streets.

"Oh, no – I don't know anyone there. I just, it's the weirdest thing, you know? Just damn crazy actually," the kid muttered, reaching for his bag and pulling out a sweet and noisily beginning to unwrap it. James' stomach however seemed to have dropped and bloody well disappeared altogether.

"Oh."

"Yeah," the kid said, leaning against the front seat so he was so close to James' ear he could hear each breath he took and feel him exhale. He could smell the fake mint on the kid's breath and it took a moment for him to realise he hadn't taken a breath himself.

"One of me mates might've had the radio on I think – cause I vaguely remember hearin' the name before, anyways. I was reading the newspaper the other night before the gig. Bored stiff I was. Anyway I read this article on the police finding this body or something. It was just so weird I couldn't get it out of my head. Anyway, last night I found another paper and it was the same story and I saw it again twice this morning. Stupid thing's following me around like a hound – so, best way to get a song out'ya head is to play, it so I thought it might be the same for this. If I see the place, then maybe I can stop thinking about it."

"Oh," James said, his voice barely a whisper. Once again he had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't breathing anymore, and it was only the realisation that he was _driving_ that snapped him out of it. The kid seemed completely unaware of it all, entranced in his own world of unwrapping something as equally mass produced and bad for him as the last sweet.

"You ever been to Leeds? Cause your voice just kinda sounds like it."  
James blinked, it hadn't been three seconds since he'd finished speaking and he'd already started again, intent on not letting the car fall silent. It had definitely been a while since a passenger had been so animated. Even without his talking, so far the kid had barely sat still, his hands were always moving – digging in his bag, unwrapping sweets, ruffling his hair – he just _wouldn__'__t_ sit still and _wouldn__'__t _shut up.

James coughed to clear his throat, the phlegm sticking uncomfortably.

"Er, yeah – I lived in Leeds. Born there, lived down here in London for a while then went back."

"But now you're here."

"Obviously I moved back again," James replied, giving the steering wheel a good tap. He just caught the kid's massive grin in his rear view mirror as he signalled and turned down another small street.

"I been to Leeds. Just for a while though. I just went AWOL for a while. Wanderin' about. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be, I just went. You don't look like the kind to do that sort of thing."

"No, not me." James had the urge to suddenly add 'sir' to the end of his sentence and as he blinked he only just saw a dog run across the street ahead of him. The breaks screeched a little and he was pulled forward by gravity, his seatbelt digging into him. All he heard from the back was a thump and several choice words.

"Bloody dogs!" the kid glared daggers as he climbed back onto the seat, James watched in the rear window as the kid set about righting himself, his hair, and his overly large bag of bits and pieces which seemed half spread across the back floor.

"You got enough stuff in there? You carry more than any of the girls I know," James chuckled, checking both sides of the road before slowly starting up again. He had been thinking the same thing as the kid, but he did prefer dogs over most animals, especially cats. Cats were so… domineering. Dogs were a friend; cats seemed to well, _own_ you. The kid looked like a cat person.

"If you're gonna have them, keep 'em locked up, eh?" the kid was muttering, and it took a moment before James saw that it wasn't the dog that had him angry, it was the idea of the dog getting run over.

"You an animal person?" he asked, not sure why he was so interested. It wasn't just a polite question, he _was _actually genuinely interested.

"Yeah," the kid muttered back, shoving the last couple of things back in his bag.

"Wanted to work in a zoo when I was a kid. But dunno, never happened. Became a rock star instead, so I can't really complain, can I?" He grinned shifting in his seat, but this time James was sure that complain was _just_ what the kid wanted to do.

"Bet that's all it's cracked up to be," he said and by the quick look he caught in the glass he guessed the kid had heard his sarcasm. The kid fell suddenly quiet, but only for a moment.

"So," he started, James nervously glanced in the mirror.

"How do you know where this Nabootique is?"

This time it was James' turn to shift awkwardly in his seat.

"I had this thing in me head that no one would know where it was. I mean all I know about the place is that it won't leave me alone." _Me neither,_ James thought with a frown, but he remained quiet.

"But you know exactly where it is, an' what happened there. I'm just curious why some Camden Cabbie knows that."

"I'm from Brent, not Camden." The kid's face broke into a large grin.

"Knew it," he muttered, his face falling again.

"Why're you in Camden then?"

"Dropping off a fare."

"Oh yeah, right. So – why d'you know about this place, huh?"

"To be honest I don't know much at all. I just, only reason I know where it is, is because I drove past it dropping off a fare in Dalston the other day. Drove right past it. We were stopped at the lights and parked right outside it. Had a funny name, made a comment on it and that's all I thought about it." _But now it__'__s all I can think about. Now it__'__s following me around too,_ he thought, but he wasn't about to go and tell the kid that, could he? He'd think he was insane, and rightly so. Only, a voice in the back of his head, usually the voice of reason, was yelling at him to stop being an idiot and just say it. The kid had after all said that the place was tagging behind him like a bad smell, but James just didn't want to say it. He felt awkward in the kid's presence. He hadn't felt like this in years. These days he was confident and somewhat slightly rude, as Court kept telling him. But this kid… there was just something.

"That and what I heard on the radio," _three times in five minutes on two and a half stations._

"Oh," The kid said, flopping back on his seat and pushing his hair out of his eyes, looking, as James noticed, slightly dejected.

"We'll be there in a couple of minutes," he added, adjusting the mirror again to better see the kid in the back. He was sat back in the seat, staring out the window still with a dejected frown on his face. James had to stop himself from asking what was wrong, or, the more fierce impulse – to say something ridiculous to bring that dazzling smile back on the kid's face. He was all points and sharp angles and the sad look did nothing for him, rather emphasising how his nose jutted out wrong and the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw. When he was smiling none of that mattered. It was completely irrelevant, and it made them beautiful. James was surprised at himself, he didn't usually _like_ real aesthetics, he liked the worn, the previously loved, not the bright and new and beautiful of this exotic bird. But he couldn't take his eyes off him.

The four turns to the main road passed unusually quickly and James felt his skin prickle the closer they got, while the buzzing in his head he'd managed to mute seemed harsh and very obvious all of a sudden. He didn't want the kid to leave. Never the less, keeping him locked in the taxi was classed as kidnapping, and James wasn't ready for that type of commitment. Nor did he see the kid coming close to the type that would suffer from Stockholm syndrome. Biting his lip he pulled over to the curb and pulled on the break outside the shop. The sun was fading, and a quick glance at the clock told him it was just over quarter past five. The air wasn't quite as cold as it had been, strangely, and James was finding it hard not to rub at his skin with his nails. The kid was still staring blankly out the window, though now he was half -heartedly chewing on his thumb nail. James watched for a moment, tracing the curve of his gloss coated lips and how the fading light darkened the gloss. It was so tantalising, James shut his eyes, letting himself rekindle the feel of the kid's breath on his neck, mint tinting the warm air perusing his skin, courtesy of the sweet rolling on his tongue… James' eyes flashed open. What on earth was he _doing?_ He coughed, clearing his throat again and taking the car out of gear. A ruffle of plastic and denim told him that his cough had snapped the kid from his stupor and James rubbed his chin, the bristle of his beard rubbing against his skin as he did so.

"We're here," he said unnecessarily, though the kid seemed to notice this for the first time as he said it. Blue eyes widening as they took in the red building and its yellow font, the glass covered in what looked like newspaper.

"Do you want me to wait?" he asked, surprised by his own voice taking control before his brain could second guess it. The kid looked away from the shop, blinking hard.

"Err, yeah. Thanks," he said, finishing with a grin.

"So, do you want me to pay now or later?" he asked, hand digging into his bag. James waited for a moment.

"Later's fine," he managed to say. The kid nodded.

"Well I'lltry not to be too long**,**" **h**e said. "I'll leave my bag in 'ere. It'll be easier I suppose. Just 'aving a look anyways." He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to James and James let it be, allowing the kid to zip up his bag without saying another word. Thing was he wasn't sure what else to say. His skin still prickled uncomfortably.

"No worries**,**" **h**e muttered, falling back against his chair. The shop unnerved him. Two days ago he'd never heard of the place. Now he couldn't get rid of it, everything dragging him towards it and it seemed inescapable. It was only something he could relate to an execution, walking towards your own death and knowing it. Surely he shouldn't feel so calm about it? But he did, it didn't worry him at all. The calm before the storm he reminded himself as the door swung shut and the kid left the car.

Calm before the storm.

And the storm was about to hit.

**^(*)^**

Zipping his bag up, Nate took a quick glance at the cabbie under his lashes and his mask slipped long enough to allow his mouth to crease in a frown. It wasn't often that Nate's bisexuality raised its head. More often than not he was girls all the way, but there was something about this guy that roused something in Nate he hadn't felt in a long time – or possibly, at all. When he did find someone he liked it most definitely did not involve a half grown beard and a sepia dress code. Though there was just something about this guy that made his stomach clench and make that odd feeling as though someone in the back of his head was clashing cymbals together - like one of those monkey toys - just get louder. It had been the oddest taxi ride he could ever remember, he'd spent half the time staring at his driver, lost in the man's curls and imagining running his fingers through them, feeling his hair tickle his skin and breathing in the man's woody scent. The rest of the time he'd spent trying _not_ to do exactly that. Oddly enough, at this exact moment he found himself anticipating the ride back to Camden more than he did finding out just what it was about the Nabootique and why it seemed to be following him.

Climbing out of the car, he shut the door, taking one last look at his driver, who had taken to zipping his jacket down a bit and peering out his window, almost as though he didn't want to look at the Nabootique at all. That was odd.

Taking a deep breath, Nate turned to face the shop. It was exactly what Cash and the driver had said it was. While the overall impression of it was almost magical, the red paint seemed dull and the papers covering the glass windows and door seemed to sap most of the magic from it. Tentatively walking forward, Nate let his nerves take over. He had no idea what the hell he was doing. The monkey in his head seemed to be banging as loud as he could, but never the less the air seemed to tingle in anticipation and set about making each step that much harder to take. The feeling as though he was walking towards something he should stay as far away as possible from was acute, and even still he kept walking. Something just told him to keep going. Something that wasn't loud enough to drown out the monkey, but all the same it was there and he felt it. He felt it and something told him to obey it rather than the warnings going off like New Years' fireworks. Taking a deep breath he took one last step forward and pulled a notice from the front of the shop. The blank eyes staring back at him made him squirm and he turned away from the small turban wearing gaze awkwardly. The entire building seemed to be pasted in missing person signs. All of them, it seemed were the small man in the turban, or a picture of a tweed jacket balancing something that resembled a balloon, underpinned with the name Harold Moon. He blinked, staring at the balloon. If someone missed him so much, why would they not post his actual picture? Stepping back he looked at the wall. It was covered in posters of two of the three missing men, the guy in the turban and the Moon character with the missing face. Not a single poster bore the face of the third missing guy – the Nore or whoever he was. Though Nate noticed a multitude of torn corners stuck to the glass, reaching out he touched the closest one, it was brittle and reminiscently damp, as though attacked continually by the elements. It seemed the third guy's posters had disappeared early on.

Biting his lip, Nate let the monkey's bashing double as though trying to drown everything out in his head. Each breath he took seemed double the effort. His stomach felt heavy and taut as though someone had it clenched in their fist. Running a hand through his hair, he nervously reached out and trailed his fingers back over to the Moon poster. Why did no one miss him? Did anyone want him back? Was he as alone as Nate felt, before he disappeared? The overwhelming feeling of intrigue washed over Nate again. Would _he_ be missed if he just upped and disappeared the way they had? If he just faded from existence which onewould he be like? The guy with the posters everyone stole, the one everyone left on the wall or the one no one even cared was gone? Tears welled at his eyes and Nate clenched them shut.

A sudden crash from inside the shop snapped him back into reality. He froze, hand instinctively clenched over the notice, pulling it off the window to reveal a square of newspaper behind. A second noise, a creak, echoed through the glass and Nate shakily let his breath escape. Glancing behind him the shadow of the cabbie sat just likehe had before; taking another deep breath Nate nervously stepped forward, boots clicking on the cement. Glancing behind him at the empty street his hand instinctively closed around the paper, clenching it tight. Another small sound echoed from inside and he moved forward, nervously reaching out and closing his other hand over the doorknob. Breathing hard, monkey suddenly eerily silent, he turned it. The door opened with a click and his breath hitched. The sudden jingle from the door's bell faded out and his breath shakily escaped into the rapidly cooling air. Glancing back at the taxi, the hand on his stomach tightened once more and a small sound escaped his lips. Suddenly determined, he slowly drew the door open. He didn't know whether the guy in the taxi was watching him, and he didn't know why he felt so anxious whether he was or not. Breathing short and sharp, he slid inside. The shop was dark and the air was still and smelt heavily of dust. The shafts of light peaking through the paper on the windows picked up the dust particles in the air, making the entire place seem as though he'd stepped into another world. It was reminiscent of something from Disney – like he was standing in a room made of stars or magic dust, lights just dancing in the air. Another crash echoed from within the shop and Nate automatically froze again. A rough voice reverberated from where he could vaguely see the illumination of a light somewhere upstairs.

His eyes danced nervously around the room, taking in each small space. He wasn't alone, someone else was here. There were two possibilities: one – they knew Naboo or whoever he was and may know why he couldn't get the whole thing out of his mind, or they were the people who had killed Naboo and were cleaning up after themselves. Either option suddenly didn't sound likeable and he took a step backwards. Though at that moment he noticed one of the posters from the front of the shop. A notice that bore a face altogether familiar. He stepped forward, reaching out for the paper. One look, that was all he wanted. One clear look – surely it wasn't…

Three things happened in quick succession. The wind outside suddenly picked up and the door slammed shut. Nate froze, hand midway to touching the paper just as two sets of feet descended the stairs.

"OI!" one of them yelled, though no one moved. Nate knew he wasn't breathing, but it was almost as though he'd forgotten how rather than anything else. The monkey in his head was suddenly banging away again, his heart pounding in similar time. It felt as though it was pounding somewhere between his chest and this throat, all intentions dedicated to escaping.

"It's him," someone whispered, though Nate barely heard it.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Someone's boots clicked on the lino as they stepped forward and all of a sudden Nate resumed the feeling of his body and the situation found the action part of his brain.

The lock on his body suddenly disappeared and only one thing passed through.

Run.

Ignoring the poster he'd set his intentions on, he turned and made for the door.

"GET HIM!" someone yelled, but he didn't hear it. Every part of his body was screaming at him to run, to get out.

The world seemed to slow, each beat of his heart taking a lot longer than it should. Slamming the door behind him, he yelled something to the cabbie from where he was standing. Something in his head told him the others in the shop were just steps behind him. One foot in front of the other he sprinted towards the car, breath hitching in his throat.

His fingers felt numb as he fumbled with the door of the car. His head was pounding, in time or against the monkey he wasn't sure. All he could hear was the constant noise. Adrenaline rushing through his body at speeds unimaginable just seconds before.

"What is it?" the taxi driver asked as Nate threw himself into the front seat.

"I don't know! Drive – just drive!" he yelled. The driver stared at him blankly for a moment.

"DRIVE!" Nate yelled and he didn't know what did it, whether it was the anxiousness of his voice or that the driver had seen whoever they were come tearing out of the shop behind him, but never before in his life had Nate felt so comfortable in the sound of screeching tyres on bitumen.

"What's going on here?" the driver yelled, catching up very quickly to Nate's hysterics.

"I have no idea! Just go – keep going, please!"

"Yeah fucking hell I will. – What the fuck is that - that _carpet_ doing?" the guy's voice strained as it swore, foot firmly pressed down on the accelerator and eyes wide as they stared in the rear view mirror. Nate swivelled around and his jaw dropped.

"Fucking Christ!"

"Yeah say that again! What the hell have you got me into?"

"Don't fucking know meself!" Nate muttered, he felt strangely close to pissing himself laughing or something. Carpets didn't fly. Guys didn't wear dresses (most of the time) and he didn't get chased by them.

Turning around the hand on his gut clenched tight again.

"Go – they're catching up! Turn or something! Just turn! TURN!" he screamed. His heart was pounding. He wanted to be sick and start crying all at once. He felt like a fucking baby, but he didn't really care. The car screeched as it turned and Nate clutched frantically at the seat as he was slammed against the door by the force of the turn.

Trying to clamber back into a sitting position, the car swerved again and he fell forward, the hand that was trying to hold himself upright stopping his head from slamming into the front dash, but only just.

"HURRY UP!" the cabbie yelled at the car, one eye on the road the other in his window. Nate spun around, peering out the window to see the carpet just meters away. Black hair and outlandish clothes riding the Oriental rug staring out at him hungrily.

"Turn!" he yelled, pointing to another off street just ahead.

"TURN!" he screeched again as they got closer – the cabbie seemed unable to think all of a sudden and Nate reached out instinctively and turned the wheel. The car careened to the left and he lost sight of the carpet. The car mounted the curb with a thump that shook Nate in his seat again, but his breathing was so sharp and the adrenaline in his veins so acute he barely felt his shoulder collide with the glass.

"In there!" he yelled pointing to an underground car park. People. There had to be people somewhere.

The driver's thoughts seemed relative to Nate's and he obeyed, driving over the curb a bit to swerve into the underground park. Tyres screeched as they tore around three bends before the car jerked to a stop between a SUV and a commodore.

"Fuck," Nate heaved, he was close to hyperventilating, he was sure. He felt drained, weak and scared as fuck. His hands were shaking and the monkey was quiet again, as though his fear had told the damn thing to fuck off. He needed a drink, something strong and lots of it.

Nothing was said. The car was quiet, both of them altogether lost in their own thoughts and both waiting, listening out, for the carpet and its burden.

"What the fuck did you do?" the driver heaved all of a sudden, breaking the silence with each word interrupted by a heaving breath.

"I have no idea," Nate replied. "I have no fucking clue." The car fell silent again as they both strained to hear. Nothing came and neither moved. They didn't trust themselves.

Nate looked from the dash, where he had been staring, to the cabbie, who was still gripping the steering wheel tight.

"I'm Nate," he said and the tension broke. He wasn't sure who started laughing first, but a second later they were both heaving, clutching their sides and practically roaring.

"James," the cabbie smiled and Nate couldn't help it. He beamed and in his head the monkey started clapping again.


	4. Chapter Four: It's not meant to be fun

**_AN: this is a fictional story none of which belongs to me, it belongs to Barratt and Fielding, who i hope were lovely children and shared their toys. Because I like playing with their toys (like making them kiss, XD)_**

**_errr. yeah, this is HUGE. sorry. It will suck your soul out through your eyeballs, and there's a couple of chapters like this, so ... beware, k?_**

**_Chapter Four_**

**It's not meant to be fun, being on the run, right?**

_Fascination casts a spell _

_And you became more than just a mystery  
and I think about you all the time  
is this fate is it my destiny  
that I think about you all the time?  
I no longer pretend to have my hand on the wheel because  
I feel the magic all around you  
It's bringing me to my knees  
Like I wanna be  
I've got to be, chained to you_

Chained to you

Savage Garden

The quiet that had stretched between the pair following their ridiculous introduction was broken only when Nate shifted in his seat and winced, his bruised shoulder flaring as he moved, his jacket pressing up against the tender flesh.

"You alright?" James asked, turning in his seat to look at him questioningly.

"Yeah," Nate replied, "Just bruised is all."

"Wouldn't have happened if you'd put your seatbelt on."

"Didn't have the time, if you didn't notice those weirdoes on our tail?" Nate winced as he heard the harsh tone as the words escaped his mouth. He wasn't sure why he was throwing up defences all of a sudden. He quite liked James, not that he actually knew much about him, first impressions had concocted an image containing a man who disliked colours, trendy people like him and couldn't overly handle pressure. All the same, he liked him, and that made everything all the more difficult. He didn't open up much, well to _anyone_ really, but there was something about the cabbie that made him relax. Made him relax enough to the point where he could open up to him, and that made him anxious – almost more anxious than the fact they'd just escaped a bunch of nutters on a flying carpet, chasing him for reasons he didn't know anything about. He didn't even know why he'd turned up at the shop to begin with. All he knew was that wherever he went the shop and its stupid name followed, and it was creeping him out. It was possibly the most stupid thing he could have thought of - actually going to the shop and trying to figure out what it was making it follow him or whatever. Now he was in some situation he rather didn't want to be in, with the last person on earth he thought he'd be in it with: a sepia, _jazzy_ bearded taxi driver from the opposite side of bloody London. It sounded _ridiculous!_ And yet it really didn't bother him in the slightest. If anything, it seemed almost normal. That was the part that scared him most, it _didn__'__t_ bother him, and he knew it should. His heart felt lodged somewhere close to his throat but never the less, he was almost _enjoying_ himself. Or as close as he had come to it in all of six months. It was more exhilarating than performing, and strangely, more comfortable.

"What should we do now?" the question was soft and docile as it escaped James' lips and yet it made Nate horribly uncertain. He opened his mouth to answer – to say something, _anything_. Yet all he managed was to open and close it like a fish in the open air.

"I, er." Nothing at all seemed to occur to him. What on earth _did_ people do in these sort of situations? They usually called for help, right – they called the police. But who in God's honest world would believe that they'd just been chased by a bunch of weirdoes on a flying carpet? It even sounded strange in his head, and that was something of an accomplishment. There were a lot of things that passed through Nate's head that he found perfectly normal, but that others would probably institutionalise him for.

"Well, we, we can't stay here," James stated and Nate glanced around him. There was nothing at all interesting about where they were parked, and all preference lay in doing just that. If all Hell broke loose they could probably stay exactly where they were and miss the apocalypse completely,

"No," Nate muttered all the same, and he had the vague impression it had nothing to do with the SUV and the commodore flanking them. The monkey in his head was banging away in the background, and his nerves were suddenly on full ball. Each movement, jerky as they were, of the cabbie's hands was sending shivers up his spine. His blood was still pounding in his ears and he was altogether sure it had nothing to do with the chase; his heart and adrenaline were certainly under control. All the same he was anxious to impress all of a sudden, and horribly disconcerted about it all.

"Come on, we should, err. We'll move, eh? Don't want to stay here too long," the driver, _James,_ said with a nervous smile, and Nate wasn't altogether sure whether he was talking to him or to himself out loud. Either way it didn't matter, he didn't bother answering and the car still started. He remained silent, letting his mind try and organise what the hell had just happened into some kind of order and he had the distinct impression it would take a while, even if everyone upstairs wasn't complaining about the noise.

"So, err, you're a musician, right?"

Nate nodded numbly and all of a sudden he realised the mask had slipped. He was naked, and the oddest thing was that he almost felt like it wasn't even needed. He hadn't even noticed, something just let him relax, let him be… himself. It was something unfamiliar and strange and yet he let it be, relaxing in the absence of his almost constant state of anxiousness. He was just himself.

And yet it scared him.

"But you're not happy doing it?" Nate blinked; taking a moment to remember where he was and that James had been watching him, watching his blank face.

"Yeah – 'course!" he said, painting his fakest grin on his lips, but the look in the cabbie's eyes as he glanced his way told Nate he hadn't believed it for a second. The smile faded.

"It's not that I'm not happy," he said, all of a sudden feeling the urge to justify himself - which never happened. He was fine with where he was, what he was doing, and yet he still found himself speaking. Letting it out. "S'just, before I did it cause I liked it. It was – dunno, relaxing or something. Now it's a job – makes it a bit, draining or sommat."

"That's why you never mix work with pleasure. Always ends badly in my opinion."

"It's good most of the time, s'just tiring is all," Nate continued, "besides I'm not great at nothing else, so s'all I got really. Should be lucky I can do it. Most people don't get to."

"The music industry is the backbone of the world, but it is the worst industry to crack and stay in. Yes sir." James broke eye contact with Nate and turned back to watching the road, and yet while watching the traffic was vital for surviving wherever the hell they were going, Nate found himself deflate as the brown eyes left his own. He felt disappointed in the loss of contact and he didn't like it at all. It was almost like he'd been robbed, which was more confusing by the small fact he didn't own any part of James at all. Not even his friendship. The only connection he had to the cabbie was about twenty pounds in cab fares. All the same he glanced at him again. He looked older than Nate, he certainly had a couple of crow's feet, and it was obvious that he wasn't vain, but there was definitely a certain manly charm about him. A confidence in him that Nate slightly envied, how strong did you have to be to withstand everything going on around you, and just _be_? He didn't know; he'd never really tried. He was always tied down to everything going on around him. Dragging behind the world of fashion and music and the latest trends. He'd perfected the art of appearances and in his world, he'd found, appearances were all that mattered. He had yet to find somewhere where they didn't. And yet, here, with James, someone he'd known for no longer than an hour, he felt they didn't. That finally someone was looking at _him_ and not at what he appeared to be.

"Any ideas where we should go?" James asked again, breaking the silence one more. Nate jumped; he'd almost forgotten he was there, trapped inside his own thoughts and disappearing beyond the confines of the car.

"Oh, um – " Nate shut him out again; he really had no idea where he could go. It was starting to get decisively darker; the sun finally disappeared beyond the horizon and the streetlights beginning their shift. It was dark; he was being chased, nay, hunted for no reason he could surmise - there was no way in hell he was going home, he'd seen enough movies to know that was the last place you ever went. No, home was out of bounds, not that he wanted to take James back there. Show him _that_ part of his life. He already felt like the guy was dissecting him piece by piece and it was the most unnerving and strangely comfortable thing in the world. Almost like it was meant to happen.

The shops passed slowly as James nervously careered down the street. Burger bars and newsagents, the bars turning on their neon signs and the newsagents hiding behind their metal shutters. Nate suddenly realized as they passed the third shop in two blocks that he had absolutely no idea where the hell he was. Nowhere he ventured sold hamburgers and onion rings in such supply as here. Then it hit him. Onion Rings. The club.

"The Velvet Onion," he blurted out and James shot him a confused look.

"What?"

"That's where we can go – the Velvet Onion."

"You sure?"

"My mates might be there. They'll know." Know what he wasn't sure. But he knew numbers had to be worthwhile in the long run, even though he didn't really want their company - if they were there at all. They crowded him, forced him to perform and really, all he wanted, he found, the realization hitting him like a tonne of bricks and the silence of that damn monkey, was just to stay in the cab with James.

"Alright," James murmured, glancing nervously in the back window again.

"What is it?" Nate asked, glancing out the back himself. They might not be anywhere he recognized, but it seemed the taxis were just as compacted here as they were in Camden or Dalston or wherever he was usually.

"That taxi," James muttered and Nate looked over at him quizzically.

"What about it? It's just a taxi. There's heaps of em."

"It's following us," James said, and once again, before he could relish the silence in his head, the monkey was back and banging away louder than ever.

"What? You sure? I can't see the difference between any of em."

"It's got a sign on the side of it. Some copy centre I ain't ever seen before. It's not a chain – it's been following for the last four blocks."

"Maybe it's just going the same way?" Nate said, trying to keep the anxiousness that was taking over stray into his voice. Keep it positive, keep it larky, don't let the fear get you, he told himself firmly, and yet it wasn't entirely working.

"Besides, how on earth can you see that? Its so bloody dark outside I can't see nothing!"

"The signage lights up in the streetlights. Part of the advertising. I've definitely seen that car before. When I picked you up. I think it's been following for a while." This time Nate couldn't control it and gulped.

"Shit," he muttered swivelling around, forcing himself to ignore it. Don't look at it and it's not there.

"Turn at the next lights and then turn again. Go round the block. Lose them," he ordered, nervously tapping his fingers on his thighs. James' eyes travelled down and watched them as he nodded and Nate felt suddenly embarrassed and nervous under his gaze.

"Sorry," he said softly and in return he got a curt nod and James' eyes left him. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was odd, having someone with such a violent affect on him. It had been too long since he'd felt overly conscious of himself, and not because people were just looking at him, but for having people _see_ him and _make an assessment_ of him.

Turning on the blinker at the last moment, James turned the car as Nate had instructed and barely before they'd turned at the lights he was turning down a small street and coming back onto the main road like before, except at the back of the pack. Nate exhaled noisily and it was James' turn to tap his fingers on the wheel.

"You sure you want to go back to the Onion?"

"Yeah," he nodded. He wasn't really sure why he wanted to go there. After all, the others were probably gone… they did only have to pack up the rest of the kit and that wouldn't take that long. They'd probably been gone not long after he'd left to look around. He hadn't even thought about winding up in Camden and yet he had and then hours hater this whole debacle had erupted. No, the others were probably gone and his phone, conveniently dead in the bottom of his bag, was probably inundated with messages asking him where the hell he was. Even still, they did tend to visit the clubs they played the night after just on habit, though he still felt a strange urge to show James this part of the world he lived in anyway. It wasn't something he understood, but something wanted to be there, the Onion, with James.

The monkey got louder.

So inadvertently Nate got louder than the monkey. He wasn't sure why he was doing it, and yet he couldn't help himself, he just started talking. And didn't stop. James looked interested for the first five minutes, and then broken only by his nervous glance behind them for the following taxi, it seemed like he tried to keep up, but really couldn't. Hell, Nate could barely keep up himself. He was barely sure of what he was talking about himself. He just kept doing it, almost in the same way that James kept glancing in the mirror and occasionally tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Before he knew it James was slowing the car and pulling up in the small street adjacent to the club. Now the darkness was once again hiding what the morning light revealed, namely the rubbish and vomit stains. The elegance of the nightlife was not at all fashionable – or agreeable in the sunlight, while now they once again faded into the shadows and oblivion. It was odd how the nightlife betrayed the young and hopeful by hiding what the morning knew. He was about to tell James when the cabbie spoke.

"So," James' one syllable word had the ability to make him shut up completely. "Do you, err, want me to come in?" It sounded so stupid, like he was placating a child or something and yet Nate felt a wave of gratitude and something like relief sweep through him.

"Err, yeah," he said, both of them clamming up at the same time. Unsure of what to say, he reached out and opened the door. It swung open with a click and the tension snapped. James blinked heavily for a moment before reaching out and doing the same thing. Nate couldn't help it, he smiled, he beamed, he felt so bloody stupid doing it, but it didn't really matter. Right at that second all that really mattered to him was the fact that the man he hadn't known for very long at all, was getting out of the car and following him to the sidewalk.

"Thanks for all this," he said, trying to meet James' eyes but it was proving difficult. Still, he tried and felt a genuine smile pull at his lips.

James merely grunted in reply, but all the same, a small smile pulled at the corners of the Northerner's mouth. Nate's confidence doubled, and he grinned outright, almost cheekily.

"It won't eat you or nothing," he said with a small laugh, moving towards the door with James tagging about four steps behind him. The look on his face apprehensive, as though entering the club was about the _last_ thing on earth he really wanted to do. And yet he was doing it, a wave of affection erupted through Nate once more. "S'just a club."

"Maybe to you, sir, but to me it's something entirely different. I don't usually frequent these sorts of institutions." Nate couldn't help himself, he laughed.

"Sorta guessed that, you're a sepia nightmare. You wouldn't fit in here for nothing. But s'not like anyone's gonna be here now, right? It's still early. Just me mates – they should have something to say bout all this." Nate wasn't altogether sure that his words were all that helpful. All the same, he still said them, and conveniently left out the rather obvious thought that his band were long gone. The place seemed virtually abandoned.

"Should be able to help."

James' mouth creased in a small line and Nate felt his confidence deplete. "Look, it'll be fine. You'll see." It didn't really feel all that confidence boosting as he said it, more of an empty hope, very much realised when they managed to enter the club, the door conveniently open.

^(*)^

"They've left," Nate said, almost disappointed, but strangely enough the other tone in his voice suggested he may even have been glad, James noted; all of a sudden he didn't really trust himself to speak. To be honest he wasn't at all sure what to say to fill the space. He just watched as Nate disappeared into the shadows.

"The place is bleeding empty. I'm not even sure the owner's here. So we've got the run of the place, I suppose," Nate murmured after a brief silent assessment, his useless banter filling in the silence once again as they made their way further into the empty club. James didn't often frequent clubs, but this one was odd. It was rather small and the entire place seemed to be designed so the stage could be seen from every part of the club. Like outside, the neon lights were dull without their electric kick, though the smell of sugary booze was pungent on the air. Every sound in the club echoed into the distance and yet Nate kept talking. It was unusual, really, just how _constant_ Nate kept speaking and yet when he did finally quiet how serious and almost pained he looked, how the club seemed to close in on them. It was almost as though he was just talking too much to stop himself thinking, stop himself from freaking out and bolting or letting his thoughts take over, which James had to admit, was something of an idea. At this point Nate was still talking away, but James had no idea what he was saying, all he could do was watch as the younger man strutted across the room, slight hips swaying with each decisive step he took in those ridiculous boots. Svelte arse caressed in the shifting light of the empty club. James shut his eyes and without question his brain constructed the image of that slight body naked against his own… blue eyes glinting, black hair tickling his skin as his tongue slid across the slip of flesh between his navel and his groin.

He snapped his eyes open and made himself NOT look downwards. Not that he needed to – his blood was all pounding southwards and there was a large warm weight in the pit of his stomach, his cheeks flushed. He shouldn't be doing this. Thinking like that… the last thing in the world he needed right then, James realised, was Nate to turn around and look at him. He'd be beet red, for sure, and those eyes gave the impression he could look at James and just _know_ everything.

"It was a good gig, you know. Last night," Nate was still saying and this time James focussed to hear his words. Trying to repress the feeling in his groin.

"I liked it. They weren't as hyper as others were – but it was good, you know. You get that sort of thing, right James? When you play jazz, you just get a crowd that you like, even if they haven't done anything special to make you like them. You get that, right?" James paused, watching the way the light played across Nate's angular face as he glanced behind him, straight at James face. These lights made him, if possible, more beautiful than outside. Here he was in his element, this was his world. Clubs and bars and the stage. It was a small wonder James' gigs were mostly empty but for his own raucous gaggle of friends, half of them horribly supportive while the other not sure why they frequented that particular bar. _This_ was what a musician was supposed to look like, James mused. He was supposed to look like a God, and somehow Nate did. Every angle of his face jutting outwards to contradict the others and yet it worked. Black hair impossibly dark and blue eyes equally iridescent. James hadn't heard him play or sing anything, but the _look_ was almost enough. He made James self-conscious, which didn't happen often. He was sure in his own skin and as he looked at the small man still eyeing him questioningly, all glam rock and indie cool, James realised that Nate was the unsure one. It was an unusual revelation for him – the one thing it appeared was that Nate was sure in himself and what he wore. But now, in the lights of his kingdom with no audience, Nate simply looked alone and weary and almost scared. James pitied him, and yet all the same, he still envied him. Envied his success… and admired his round firm… _no!_

"Err, yeah," he answered his companion, not altogether sure anymore what he was saying or agreeing to. Momentarily disorientated by his throbbing groin, he was glad when Nate turned around to face the stage again.

"I like being on stage," he said, and James inadvertently admired his ass again.

"But I like being off it more." Nate's voice was barely above a whisper, and yet the club chose to make it carry, send it around the room echoing till it filled every space.

"When people are watching me, I feel alone." James' eyes travelled quickly to the back of Nate's head and he found himself walking forward.

"You're never really alone."

"I am," and he sounded so sure about it.

The silence was broken as Nate cleared his throat noisily.

"Gah, lookit me – it's all bleeding weird, eh? Can't seem to keep me trap shut."

"Seems that way." James smirked down at him, and noticed a small blush creep into Nate's cheeks, it was then James realised his hand was on Nate's shoulder and had been for some time. He pulled away, almost regretfully, and his own cheeks coloured.

"Thanks for not, you know, runnin off James," Nate murmured and the heat in James' face doubled. He felt suddenly sixteen and shy that the girl he'd admired from afar had suddenly talked to him. They were so close he could feel the soft tickle of Nate's breath on his neck and there was the shortest space in the world, it was just to easy to just lean down and…

"OI, YOU AN YOUR GIRLFRIEND, MY CLUBS S'NOT OPEN, MONKEY BRAINED BALLBAG!" James stiffened and pulled away, altogether rather annoyed and overtly confused as he took in the man leaning over the balcony, leering at them.

James didn't like to adhere to first impressions but this one seemed to hold out. The man was brash, sounded American, and overly loud and obnoxious – and if first impressions proved correct, James had to admit rather stupid, which in combination with his baby blue safari suit two sizes too small provided a rather fearsome image, alarming, and concerning all in one.

"VINCY?" he roared. James blinked. Him? He pointed at himself and the American made a large deal out of rolling his eyes.

"Not you, buttplunger!" James stepped aside and both sets of eyes fell on Nate, who blanched.

"No, Mr Fossil! I'm from the band," he stuttered. The man looked momentarily confused and James joined him. The name tingling in the back of his mind. It sounded familiar and yet he couldn't manage to pin it down. Doors kept slamming over it. Locking it away.

"What band?" the man – Fossil – yelled, still leering at them from the balcony.

"Blank Verse? We played here last night. I'm just here picking up some of our stuff." Nate made up on the spot. James tired to stop the smile perking his lips as he watched, Fossil remained oblivious to the bullshit escaping Nate's lips and yet he surprised James when he finally thought of something to follow up Nate's excuse.

"Thought you lot go that before? What was all the boxes from before then, huh? Dog biscuits?"

"No, Mr Fossil. I had to come back. We wont be here too long." James' confidence in Fossil's intelligence disappeared as suddenly as it had come when he nodded and seemed to take in their suggestion.

"Whatever!" he said and with that, and an unusual kick like he was trying to dislodge his underwear he disappeared back into the abyss of the club.

A large sigh of relief escaped Nate quickly followed by suppressed laughing.

"What a jerk off." He giggled and James found himself smiling.

"Now Sir. We can't judge him by our standards, he's – "

"An imbecile? Retard? Bumberclark?" Nate offered cheekily and James couldn't help himself, he grinned wider.

"All of the above," he replied and the younger man laughed, eyes dancing.

"It gets worse, you now. You ain't seen him dance."

"Well then, pop up onto that stage and show me how." James smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping back to take in the smaller man in his entirety.

James felt horrible when Nate's grin faded and he looked up at the stage apprehensively.

"You know the stage is the loneliest place in the world," he said, and not only did James feel bad for making that genuine smile fade, but he also had the distinct feeling that the young man _needed _someone to vent to, and just as strange was that he actually _genuinely_ wanted to listen. The kid intrigued him, drew him in, even beyond that fake smile and blue eyes, long lashes flickering, dragging each prey in. Did the kid even know he was doing it? Dragging people in like a Venus flytrap? Probably. People like them usually knew exactly what they were doing, but never really understood why or what effect it would have. They were broken, _Nate_ was broken, and James realised he'd found a kindred spirit in the musician. A kindred broken soul…

"I was always wanting to make it you know. Make it big; know that when I played a gig everyone was there for me, you know? That when I stood on stage I was there doing what I enjoyed, everyone having a good time in what I was doing an' on top of it all I'd be getting paid. That was always the dream, you know? Now – now I've got it, it's not what I thought it'd be. It's a chore now. I don't, well enjoy being up there anymore. I love the adrenaline. But it's so alien… so alone." He stopped, glancing anywhere but at James. James wasn't sure whether Nate knew what he was saying, or whether it was just noise to fill the silence working it's way between them since Fossil had appeared.

"I know what you're saying. That's why I don't do it as a full time job. I keep it separate. I keep it for me – not for everyone else in the room."

"So, you play jazz, right?"

"Yes, sir," James replied, somewhat proudly. Nate looked like he barely stopped himself from making a particularly childish face.

"I play nights. Three nights a week, and use the day to drive the car around. That way I keep an honest wage coming in, and I still get to do what I love."

"S'easier for you. Jazz is easy. It's got no rules, no one to judge. S'not that easy for me. I don't got anything else an' there's so much pressure."

"Everyone's got something. Something to escape to, something left to feel at the end of the day."

"Not me. All I got is my look. I'm like an inflatable doll or something," Nate said with a bitter laugh. James remained silent, and the fear in Nate's eyes made his gut clench when he saw that the kid had expected him to laugh with him. The sad, almost pitying look on James' face had not been his intention.

"Christ!" Nate swore, running a hand through his hair. "It's just so damn weird. I never tell nobody nothing! An here I am laying me guts out to you! I never said this to anybody before – but you, something 'bout you makes me able to say anything. When I'm talking to you – " he stopped. Licking his lips. James stared, cold dread lying heavy in his stomach. He couldn't make himself say any more. The look in his eyes told James he'd heard more than the kid had divulged to anyone in a long time.

James waited, listening to the anxious drawing of breath. He couldn't say it, that much was obvious and James surprised himself by speaking up. By saying it himself.

"It's like you can be yourself and it wont matter," James replied, filling the silence that had seemed to consume the club. Nate turned, staring at the other man. The hole in his chest was suddenly gone and as he opened his mouth to speak he felt for the first time in his life that he truly belonged somewhere.

^(*)^

Nate swallowed, watching the older man and letting his words sink in. How on earth could he _know_ that's exactly what it felt like?

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice sounding strained and weak even in his own ears.

"Same here," James replied, Nate's stomach jolted and he looked away, glancing through his lashes up at the Northerner he could tell James had clammed up. It was shown all over his face, in his stern frown and the white glare of his clenched fists.

"Frigging weird. Doesn't bloody help that I got weirdoes on me tail and I don't got a clue why." Nate said in a rush of words all tumbling out, he stopped and took a breath.

"All I bleeding know is that where ever I bloody well looked there was something 'bout that Naboo guy who owned that shop, everywhere I went. Like it was bleeding well calling me. Guess it was, moment we bleeding get there everything goes arse up! Christ!" James' knuckles whitened a little more, but Nate didn't realise. His eyes were directed at the stage, remembering the leering people who had been screaming and reaching up at him the night before. The same people currently outside in the gathering darkness, rushing about in worlds entirely their own. He envied them. His life had always been a pain - everything he could remember of it. Six months of misery in detail and twenty seven years of misery blurring in and out of focus. It seemed almost right that he shouldn't be able to get anything but misery now. All he was due was that at some point, whatever was happening to him would get too much for the taxi driver and he'd drop him off somewhere and the only good thing he'd managed to attain in his life would slip through his fingers like sand.

Such was life.

"You have any idea where to go, now – you know, from here?" James asked and Nate couldn't help himself, he stared.

"You're crazy, hanging out with me."

"Yeah, well, they know my bleeding taxi. So…" he left it hanging, but those few unfinished words were the sweetest music Nate had heard, and even though he hated the radio – he listened to a lot of bloody music.

Music.

"I just remembered," he mumbled, feeling something like a door unlock in his head.

"Remembered what?" James asked, looking up. Nate grinned.

"Something one of the guy's said today, today? – Yesterday. Anyway, they mentioned that they played here."

"Who?"

"The guys who went missing. Nore, he was the front man for most of the bands that went through here. Fossil went broke when they disappeared. Club died an he almost went bankrupt – he went insane, anyways. But I mean, it's just another thing, innit? I mean everywhere I go there's this stuff to do with them. Like a jigsaw puzzle or sommat." James found his concentration fuelling. The Velvet Onion was connected too. The one place he'd delivered a fare to had sparked off everything. It had all started with the drive to this place here, and now another piece of the puzzle was put in and this line led to the middle just like the others – like everything to do with Nate, the radio, the paper, his mind drifting back to the shop, getting out of the car before he knew what he was doing. It was all connected.

^(*)^

James gulped. He had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. What _had_ he gotten himself into? Was there _any_ possible answer to that question that could sound even remotely sane? He very much doubted it.

"I'm gonna ask him. I mean the place is empty there's nothing else that I can think of to do, an' he ain't gonna have much to do either." Nate grinned, sliding off the stage, heeled boots clicking as he climbed the stairs and disappeared into the shadows towards the back of the club and it's winding corridors. It was almost like Fossil's lair at the centre. James chuckled; Fossil seemed far too stupid to come anywhere close to having _any_ worthwhile authority.

Getting to his own feet he stood in the middle of the stage and stared. Small eyes as wide as they could as he tried to absorb as much of the room as possible. It _was_ exhilarating. Being on stage. It never ceased to amaze him how the butterflies seemed to appear the moment he stepped up on that raised platform. How his whole body would tingle as though it wanted nothing more than to just freeze on the spot and never defrost. It was those small weaknesses that made him feel like he'd conquered something mountainous whenever he performed each Thursday, Friday, Saturday night at the Jazz club. Like tonight, he'd been on the book, Court had been coming down and so had Bill. Bill only ever came down when the Friday was supposed to be a roaring one, and they usually were.

It was unusual for any club to be closed on a Friday night – most especially one close to bankruptcy. Surely they would have been open as many nights as possible to reek in the cash… surely.

_Everywhere I go there__'__s this stuff to do with them__…_

_VINCY!!!_

_No Mr Fossil, I was in the band__…__ from last night__…_

_It just got in my head, you know? I was at this club just reading _

_Cash said__…_

James froze.

They were meant to be here. They'd been lured in. Like bees to honey.

His whole body was tingling and yet he couldn't move. He felt so stupid. He didn't even know why he didn't just turn and run now, leave the kid behind and just run himself. Go back to his life and ignore everything going on. But there was just something. As much as it scared him, he wanted to know what it was all about, and there was that feeling that he wasn't as detached from the whole thing as he hoped he was… that he wasn't anything but a helpless bystander dragged into this whole mess without any prior commitment or connection. But things were never that simple.

Never the less his primal instincts to run were that simple and his body loosened. He had to run. _They_ had to run, get away from everything, Bob Fossil – _how do I know his first name? - _The Velvet Onion, whoever was coming… because surely they were. Fate just couldn't land them in this much hot water and not make any waves…

His shoes squeaked on the floor as he slid across the room. Shaking hands gripped the door handle and shook it. It didn't budge. Not a centimetre, it didn't give at all. He moaned, like a wounded animal. _Shut up, h_e told himself. It was embarrassing, really. But something inside him wanted to just drop to his knees and hide behind something and plead for mercy. _Since when was I that weak?_

Not that he got to answer. Nate's voice, somewhere close to hysterical bombarded the room as he came tearing back down the corridor.

"JAMES!!!" there we go. The tide was coming in. James' heart doubled its beating and leapt somewhere close to escaping out his mouth.

"We have to go! NOW!"

^(*)^

Nate knocked politely on the door, right below the sign that said 'Manager' in large bold font. There was quiet within for a moment before the man inside called through the wood to enter. Suddenly apprehensive, he opened the door slowly. Bob Fossil was waiting for him, seated behind his desk hands folded, hair a beehive mess and he was grinning in a way that made Nate's nerves do back flips.

"Heya Vincie." He giggled. Nate gulped. The monkey's clapping in his head not only got louder, but faster and Nate impulsively clenched his fists, unable to force it back.

"Fossil, yeah?" he asked as he flashed his fakest smile.

"Where ya been, Vince m'boy?" Fossil asked earnestly. It was only this second time

Nate noticed the slip of his name… Vince. The name sent the monkey into a shambles and his gut clenched painfully, but all of a sudden it was muffled as though someone had rapidly closed all the doors between his brain and his ears, leaving him disorientated.

"Look, I'm not Vince," he said, anxiously.

"Sure ya are, my sugar plum fairy. Where ya been, Vincie? You cost me a lot of money, you know."

"Look, mate I'm not Vince. I was 'ere the other night – Blank Verse? We played here like last night. But that's not why I was here - I just thought you'd be able to help. Thought you might know where they went, is all. The guys who worked at the Nabootique."

"But you did, Vincie."

"I'm not Vince – how many times do I have to tell you?"

"You can't leave, Vincie. Not this time."

"Look I didn't say nothing about leaving – I just want to know-"

"I wont let you leave, Vincie. They told me not to."

Nate blinked, the odd glint in the man's eyes worsened and fear penetrated Nate's subconscious spreading through him like fire.

"What do you mean?"

"I called them, Vincie. They're coming," he giggled.

"JAMES!" Nate didn't know he'd yelled, but all the same he was thankful he did as he ran as fast as his heeled boots would let him.

^(*)^

James was standing by the door as he came down the stairs, a similar fearful gleam in his eyes. He fell against the door, panting. The lock rattled and Fossil's laughing grew louder. All the while the doors in his head sprang open and the monkey's clapping reverberated around and around in his skull. If the adrenaline and fear didn't remind him of their predicament, he was sure he would have fallen to his knees and just rocked back and forward, yelling at it to just _shut up, p_ray for silence, a small human right he suddenly lacked and wanted desperately. Silence. Good old fashioned quiet. But the monkey had no intention of stopping and panic was suddenly rising. Not at all helped by the panic in James' eyes as the cabbie tried the door himself.

"It's locked. We're locked in!" James whined, small eyes crinkled in distress. Nate's annoyance rose like a cobra and collapsed twice as quickly.

"I locked the door!" Fossil cackled. "They told me to call them, when you came back, Vincie. An' I did. Bobby's a good boy!" he giggled. All sanity thrown to the wind as his club faded around him and all remnants of his success and relative happiness from the zoo finally disappeared. Fossil was insane, but honestly, that wasn't a huge development.

"There's gotta be a way out!" Nate muttered, once, twice under his breath. The club was dark and each sound they made seemed to echo in the silence. Nate twisted in circles frantically, reaching into his mind, searching it for anything that would give them a way out…

"This way!" he yelled, thankful that despite James' panic he was able to follow the leader when called for.

His boots echoed on the floor as he moved, and Bob Fossil's insane shrieks hounded him all the way, but Nate felt as though his path was laid out for him, picking his bag up along the way towards the green lit hallway. The rippled faded memories of a booze addled mind their only hope. Yet their hope wasn't futile, and Nate was thankful that Fossil's mind was practically gone as he tried the emergency door. Holding his breath he fell against it and as the door shifted and gave way for iridescent neon lights, Nate would have willingly gone to a mental institute as he basked in the reverence of fresh air and freedom. Not that he paused to bask in it. Heart pounding painfully in his chest he ran, not altogether sure that James was following, but something in his heart told him the cabbie wasn't far behind. It was such a comforting thought he almost stopped and fell to his knees and just started sobbing, a mixture of relief and exhaustion. He'd never felt so drained. And yet even stranger he didn't want it to end. The rhythm of heels and heart pounding against the clapping monkey as they ran down the street towards the car was the most exhilarating experience and he almost smiled.

_I__'__m insane. h_e thought as he threw himself against the taxi. Looking up as James fumbled with the keys, Nate smiled, the Clyde to his Bonnie. He laughed and right then he knew he was insane, but it didn't matter. Ripping open the door he flung himself in, and this time James didn't need yelling at in order to press his foot down as hard on the accelerator as he could.

Nate had to stop himself from winding down the window and yahooing as loud as he could into the darkness. He felt more alive than he ever had. Breathing hard and yet unable to wipe the smile off his face he glanced over at James and his heart practically back-flipped at the sight of the Northern cabbie smiling just as hard as he was.

"I can't see any lights behind us – so I don't know if we're being followed."

"Fossil said he'd called them – whoever 'them' are I dunno. But they were coming, anyways."

"There's nothing there," James answered, still grinning as his gaze turned from the rear view mirror and back to the road.

"What the hell is going on, with this? With you? With everything?" Nate's smile left his face as James spoke. James' smile was still half plastered on his face, chest still heaving as he took in long breaths. Nate turned his gaze to the darkness outside before he answered.

"I don't know," he muttered, completely serious. He had no idea what the hell was going on. His mind didn't even have a moment to even contemplate it. Half because everything else seemed to take precedence for some stupid reason, and the other half purely because he didn't _want_ to think why it was all happening. It was both the best and worst thing to ever happen to him, he didn't know what it was or why it was happening. He was just part thankful part anxious why it had.

James glanced at him again, the smile slipping from his face.

"I'm not blaming you or anything."

"Yeah I know – but I mean, it's weird. Scary – don't you think? I mean they're after me. Me." Something flashed in James eyes, but unsure of what it was Nate let it pass.

"An' I don't know why. I don't get any of it. I just wanted it out of me head, you know?" and even odder still, it looked like James knew _exactly_ what he meant, but the man still remained silent and Nate let it be. He didn't want to talk. Didn't want to keep going and it was just comfortable being here, with James. Content. He didn't have to perform, that was one of the things that was so nice, he realised. He didn't have to perform, but when he did it was special.

Glancing behind him the darkness leered at him, their protection closing in around him. They were alone. Just the two of them. On the run, and he still didn't know why, or who, or even how everything was happening. And he didn't really care.

"I think we need to call someone." Nate jumped. It was odd having someone else break the silence. Usually it was himself, something he was content in doing most days – usually for his own benefit. If he wasn't talking then people would have the opportunity to look at him and see something he didn't want them to see. With James it didn't matter.

"Yeah?"

"Hmm, my, my friend – Court. She'll, err. She'll know what to do." Nate felt his stomach drop. _She__'__ll_ know what to do. Court. _She__'__ll._ He had a girlfriend. _Of course, you twat. What did you think? Maybe he was like you?_ His stomach dropped further. Why was he so disappointed? _Do you really want me to answer that?_ He quickly averted his gaze.

"So, err." He cleared his throat. Pull it together. "Your girlfriend?" he had no idea what made him ask it. The words seemed to hang in the air, making the car somewhat uncomfortable. Nate shifted. _Idiot._

"No." the single word reverberated through him. _No._ Just 'no'. Not, 'no – but I do have one, her name's –'. It was just 'no'. He couldn't help himself - he beamed. Sitting up straight in his seat he directed his smile at James, who was nervously holding the steering wheel rather hard and glancing in the mirror again.

"Someone there?"

"No," he muttered, small eyes nervously reaching out to find Nate's.

"Good then, we'll stop and call this friend of yours, yeah?" James nodded and Nate happily glanced out the window. He didn't have a girlfriend and he was pretty sure he'd caught James looking at him, sizing him up, back at the club. All the same, he didn't want to look like an idiot, which would be something of an achievement. Usually he didn't care at all and normally it wouldn't have made any difference. But James' opinion of him mattered.

"There's a phone up close, I think," Nate said, nodding to where he caught sight of a phone box. James nodded and almost immediately the car began to slow. Pulling to the side, Nate waited, allowing the silence of the car to continue. The road behind them still eerily empty and the sidewalk just as bereft of life, he let his gaze wander back to James. Over the broad nature of his shoulders, the elegance of his hands… musicians hands. His were all angles and joints; they had nothing of the beauty of James' hands. His gaze wandered up over the dark curls, falling with natural grace that his own hair could never achieve. Small eyes peered out from his worn face – his body looked lived in. Like it had been and experienced life. Nate knew he still looked like he had just stepped out of his packaging. All plastic and manufactured rather than the natural _beauty_ James possessed. Even his beard suited him. He was a man's man, and there wasn't many Nate knew who, well, swung Nate's way. Not that he knew many anyway. All the guys he knew half looked like girls. Like, well, _him._ Perhaps there was something in that.

But then in addition not many people in general would stick around to witness the mess he was in. James was an odd man, and yet Nate couldn't get enough of him. He stared hungrily.

James blinked, appearing almost startled and Nate realized he was making his staring rather obvious.

"So, err."

"I'll wait here if you want. You can call her. Doesn't bother me." Really it did, strangely enough he felt almost _jealous_ of the girl he didn't even know. She knew James, was friends with him. Good friends. Better than good friends, after all it wasn't the best situation they were in, and yet she was the one James was calling.

"Okay," James muttered, taking a moment to rustle around in the glove box for some change. Nate watching his hands with the same hunger as before. Watching them handle each object as James pushed it out of the way to bury deeper into the depths.

"Do you want me to -" he asked, reaching down for his bag.

"No, I got it." James replied, shoving aside several cassettes and something that resembled a gold tea-light stand and at last grasping his coins.

"I'll be right back," he said shoving it all back and closing the glove box. Nate offered him a small smile; unsure of what purpose it served, but the small look in James' eyes made it worth it. He sighed, reaching up and playing with the pendant around his neck, the monkey was strangely quiet again and the silence was both relaxing and altogether deafening. It was strange, being at odds with your own head.

Watching James cross the small distance to the phone booth Nate leant back against the seat and closed his eyes again. The street was still empty and he felt tired and rather relaxed. A small clang ricocheted off the phone booth as James shuffled inside and Nate's eyes flung open – searching the darkness hungrily.

The tall Northerner was standing awkwardly in the phone booth and Nate exhaled, there was just some part of him that didn't want to lose sight of him for a second, as though the moment he did there was the possibility he would just _disappear._ It was ridiculous, but after everything that had happened so far, Nate didn't want James to disappear, he didn't want the hole in his chest to reopen. A hole that had finally begun to disappear since he'd gotten in the older mans taxi, something he'd been waiting six months to feel. Ever since Rahnee.

It was strange; he could barely remember her face anymore. His mind was full of James, and it was comforting and _right. _

Could this situation get any more confusing? It was like a damn jigsaw puzzle and he didn't even know what picture he was supposed to be making – especially since he didn't even have all the damn pieces.

Nate sighed, letting his gaze wander back to James. He'd find all the pieces and figure out what the hell was happening to them. _Them._ He noticed the slip and a smile passed across his face.

_Them._

^(*)^

The phone rang three times before Court picked up. James let out a sigh of relief. It was so damn relieving to hear her voice… hear someone familiar's voice.

"Court? – Its James."

"James! Honey, I'm sorry I couldn't make it tonight, but my trip lasted longer than expected."

James shut his eyes. Shit. She'd gone away. Where? - Four days in Dublin for work, that was it.

Shit.

"How was the gig?"

"Huh?"

"I asked how the gig went."

"Oh." James shut his mouth; he had to take this slowly. After all he wasn't really the type to get himself embroiled in massive expeditions or wild adventures… _really? What do you call this then?_

"I didn't do the gig."

"Oh. Why?"

"Court, I'm, er, I'm in a bit of trouble."

"How much do you still owe James?" James stomach flipped at the sound of her disappointed tone. He still owed the bank money… _shit!_

"Shit."

"James."

"I owe a lot. But that's not it, Court. It's something else. Something's happening to a fare I picked up. Only it's sort of happening to me too."

"A fare? James what are you doing? Are you crazy?"

"I think so – but Court it's so odd, it, it was happening to me too, before I picked him up. We're being followed anyway. I don't know what its all about – but neither does he. It's insane."

"James honestly tell me what you've done."

"I haven't done anything, Court. You gotta understand, this isn't something I can explain. All I know is that two days ago I didn't know anything about this place and now I cant escape it. There's people chasing us and neither of us know why. All I know is that I saw this shop yesterday on my route – this Nabootique and then I couldn't get it out of my head." The story just seemed to be rushing out of his mouth at a thousand words a second and he wasn't even sure Court could understand a single one of them. All he knew was that Nate was watching him from the car and it was making him nervous. "An' then I pick up this fare and he said the same thing was happening to him, and we show up at this place and the next thing I know we're being chased by these weirdo's on a flying carpet! A flying carpet Court! And I was not drunk or hallucinating or anything. It was real. And I don't know what to do. Everywhere we go is just something else in this mess and I don't know what to do anymore."

"Calm down, James. Calm down, all right? I'm coming home tomorrow – I'll be there at about six. Can you hold out till then?"

"I – I think so. Yeah." Scratching his beard rather tiredly James sighed. "Yeah. We'll be right 'til then." _I hope._

"Look James I can't meet you until then, I'm sorry. Just hide and keep a look out till then, alright? I'll meet you at six at the Bourke? Is that okay?"

James bit his lip, looking over at the taxi where Nate was staring at him. Their eyes connected.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, James – but I'll try my best to get back earlier. In the meantime Ill look up this Nabotourke was it?"

"Nabootique," James corrected.

"I'll find out what I can, James. But I just can't get there any earlier."

"Thanks Court. I really appreciate it."

"Stay safe, James. Promise?"

"Yeah."

"Call me again if anything happens, alright?"

"I will."

"I'll see you at the Bourke. James – stay out of sight, alright? Find somewhere to hide."

"Yeah, sure." The line went dead. He sighed, placing the phone back on the receiver. He had such hope – Court would know what to do. She'd fix everything, when really it wasn't her problem… it wasn't even _his _problem. Not entirely. It was the kid's. Nate had been the one to visit the shop. Nate was the one they were chasing. Nate was the one that had gotten into _his_ taxi and it was him, James, who hadn't kicked him out; James who had taken him to the shop, to the club, James who didn't really want to let him go for some reason. James who'd found himself standing outside that damn shop without realising it just yesterday.

It was his problem too and no amount of denial was getting him any closer to avoiding that fact.

Climbing back into the car James sat staring at the steering wheel for a moment, Nate sensing his discontent remained quiet.

"She can't help us. Not yet."

"Oh."

"She's out of town. But she'll be back tomorrow. Six tomorrow. She's meeting us then in a pub in Brent." He was about to say 'if we're still here at six' but didn't. The look on Nate's face told him the kid knew just as much himself.

"She said we should probably just stay out of sight until then."

"Yeah. That sounds good," Nate murmured, blinking at James from underneath his fringe.

"I don't know where we could go, though."

"S'pose we could just drive around for a while. Give us time to think maybe," Nate said, breaking his gaze away from James, James sighed. Losing that gaze made him feel cheated.

"Suppose."

"Genius," Nate muttered again as James took to starting the car and pulling away from the curb. Once again they were silent, James trying not too feel disappointed in Court, after all she was trying to help, what more could she do when she was out of town?

^(*)^

Meanwhile Nate tried to understand what on earth he was doing getting so attached to the jazzy driver. After all he was definitely attached, he was getting jealous of the guys friends he'd never met before. Really, all James and he had was one run after another of bad bloody luck leading back to the Nabootique. And in continuing with Nate's run of ideas this thought of the small shop lead him to finally breaking the silence between them.

"I got an idea where we could go."

"Oh, okay," James replied, taking a small look at him from the main road before glancing in the rear view again. Nervous eyes.

"You're not going to like where I'm going to suggest, you know. But I mean we _need_ somewhere to hide until we can meet this Cat."

"Her name's Court."

"Sorry." He blushed. "Court. But yeah, I mean you agree that we can't stay in the taxi all day, can we?" _liar!_ That's exactly where he wanted to stay… but nothing on earth was going to make him say that out loud.

"Suppose not."

"An' I'm not too keen on going out into the open or nothing."

"You know that's probably the safest place. In a crowd."

"Well that's why we're seeing Court in a pub, right? But I sure ain't dragging you through Camden, and I ain't gonna fit in anywhere else. Either way we're both gonna stick out like a sore thumb anywhere we go."

"Well then where?"

"You ain't gonna like it."

"Just say it."

"Back to the Nabootique."

"You're right."

"Really?"

"I don't like it," James scowled. "Last time we were there we got chased, remember? That's the place that started all this. It's the last place I'm going back to."

"Well, I think we should go back there. I just ­- there's gotta be something there. Why else would they have been there? What ever it is I think it's there – and if not it's gotta be the safest place, innit? I mean it's the last place any one sane would go back to. An' it's not like we're gonna go home. Not while they're after us. I mean who hasn't seen some of those movies, eh?"

^(*)^

James frowned noncommittally. He could leave him, kick the kid out of his car and drive off and leave all this behind. But he _couldn__'__t._ Not only did he _like_ him, but it was his problem too. And the kid knew just as much as he did as to why he'd shown up at the shop – let alone why those weirdoes had been there. The kid was probably scared as hell. _He_ was scared as hell. Being followed by a group of weirdo's was the last thing he wanted in the world, but he couldn't blow the kid off. It was strange. The kid looked over, blue eyes wide and staring. They were in it together. _Face it Fountain. You__'__re stuck, and to be honest you like it. So stop being so damn fussy._

"You sure?" he asked gruffly. Nate nodded.

"Yeah. S'the only place I can think of. I sure as hell ain't going home. S'just like in Lord of the Rings, eh? 'The closer we are to danger, the further we are from harm.' If we go back to the Nabootique no one'll think we're crazy enough to do it, right?"

James stared, Nate's large blue eyes gazing at him in full, naïve force. He wasn't quite sure whether the idea was genuinely a good one, or that bloody look had blackmailed him into giving in. But all the same he let go of his lip and relaxed his hold on the steering wheel. _Just let it be, Fountain,_ he told himself and did the one thing he disliked doing most. He agreed.

Thank: Catinthetree, Crowson75, naget_innle, monooccularcat, **husariaagatka**, gracefulstalker, aeneus, dewbath, sparklyglampire for reviewing before, will need to repost chapter four in two parts.


	5. Chapter Five: The Nabootique

**_AN: Here's chapter five, it's LONG so beware. Though, there are wondrous gifts herein, so keep your eyes peeled. Hope you enjoy. It's getting close, things start to unravel next chapter and the confusion ends to a certain extent, so again, keep watching! Thanks for reading. _**

**_Dislaimer: Any recognisable characters amongst the unrecognisable belong to Barratt and Fielding, who encourage us to make their characters to naughty things if anything. I mean, come on boys! _**

**Chapter Five**

**Nabootique**

_Can't close my eyes  
I'm wide awake  
Every hair on my body  
Has got a thing for this place  
Oh, empty my heart  
I've got to make room for this feeling  
It's so much bigger than me  
_

Can't Take it in

Imogen Heap

* * *

"_If we go back to the Nabootique no one__'ll think we__'re crazy enough to do it, right?__"_ twenty five minutes later andJames was still surprised he'd found himself agreeing to the stupid kid's idea. At the time the bloody kid had made _sense_. That was something he wasn't sure was going to happen, but never the less he'd found himself turning the key in the engine again and checking the windows. The taxi with the laser copy centre on the side hadn't been in his field of vision, and he found himself releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. The car had descended into a somewhat comfortable silence and the pair of them had just let it be. James knew Nate was watching him now though, and he didn't really care, strangely. In fact he _liked _it. _Stop it, _he told himself firmly. But all the same a familiar twitch hitched in his groin and he turned away to hide the slight flush he felt in his cheeks, making a great deal of turning back out of the traffic.

Glancing sideways carefully, nothing more than a tilt of his eyes, he noticed that Nate was looking away and he let his breath escape. Nate was staring out of the window and chewing on his thumb again. James didn't really like these moments when Nate was silent; he didn't like the pained expression hidden in Nate's eyes. He didn't like that they _were_ hidden. What did the kid think would come from being happy _all_ the time? What was he going to achieve? Everyone had their down days, everyone. What made him any different? Why did he need to be plastic? But James didn't speak up, instead he reached down and fiddled with the radio to break the quiet; a smooth jazz beat erupting from the speakers. James let the music waft over him a moment before shifting in his seat again, something he realised was becoming a frequent occurrence in the kid's presence, and flicking his eyes to the mirror to check behind them again. His stomach settled when his eyes met the darkness of an empty street.

He breathed a sigh of relief and pressed his foot harder on the accelerator. Nate chose this moment to turn to look at him and James couldn't help but offer a small smile. He wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve or what it _could_ achieve, but Nate seemed to take it gratefully.

"Thanks for all this, James," Nate said, his smile somewhat sad. James smiled back; returning the timid upturn of his lips in what he hoped was something more uplifting. He felt like such a pansy – he was a serious sort of guy, serious in everything he did. He didn't smile this much _ever,_ but all of a sudden he found himself smiling at _everything_. Like it was a form of damn currency. He was on the run for his life, from the weirdest bunch of people he'd ever laid eyes on. People who wouldn't give up, and he still wasn't entirely sure why the hell he was running. And all he found himself doing was _smiling._

_Not just smiling_, something snidely reminded him and his cock twitched again as Nate's hand reached out and played with the dial of the radio. Fingers so close to James groin… so close. He shifted again, trying to suppress himself.

"You don't mind, do you?" Nate asked, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

"S'just jazz does stuff to me," he said as he turned the volume right down, letting the sound of the motor take over.

James nodded, watching as Nate's fingers scratched hungrily at the skin on his opposite hand, mute as he desperately tried to stop himself imagining those fingers moving on his own skin.

Needless to say it was an awkward few minutes, but somewhat thankfully, the ride didn't take as long as James had thought it would, and despite his desperate thoughts of dead puppies to stem his arousal Nate remained, thankfully, blissfully unaware of the reaction he was having on James.

So used to the silence, James almost jumped entirely out of his seat when Nate spoke up again.

"We should stop somewhere up there." James blinked twice, straining his eyes to focus on where the kid was pointing. It was a tourist shopping mall. Small, compact and the type of place able to charge twice the price for the very basics.

"Why?" he found himself asking and the roll of Nate's eyes made James frown. It was a bit rich coming from him, considering some of the total bollocks that sprouted from his mouth.

"We can't park the car close by – they might see. We'll park it up there and it'll blend in a bit. Or wont be as obvious, right?" James couldn't help himself, he smiled. It was a genuinely brilliant idea. Not that he was going to tell Nate that.

"Sounds good," he replied, revving the engine a bit more and making a detour from the direct route Nate had suggested. He really couldn't help but grin smugly at the small noise of contempt that the younger man emitted, folding his arms petulantly to play with the pendant around his neck again.

Stowing the car right in the middle of the small car park (following a short argument as to whether the middle or far back was the smarter option, needless to say James won), James let Nate stalk off in a huff for the first ten paces before something made him quicken his pace to keep up with the smaller man, whose large bag swung left and right, as he moved, with enough momentum to take out anyone small enough to fit under his elbow.

"You know I still think far back would have been better," Nate said cheekily as James finally caught up and he couldn't help but chuckle. He let the sound of his keys jingling in his pocket and Nate's boots on the sidewalk lull him into some cheery otherworld for the two and a half blocks they'd managed to divide between the boutique and the car. The streets were empty as they made their way up the back lane towards the Nabootique and while James was sure there would be a back way into the shop, he still found himself following Nate right up to the front door, a nervous glint in his eyes.

Two steps behind him, James stopped.

Two days ago he'd been standing exactly where he was now, staring at those same eyes and he'd run away. _With good reason. If you__'d stayed out of Dalston this never would have happened,_ the voice in his head hissed and he frowned. Was all this worth it? He wasn't totally sure. Life was suddenly more interesting, and additionally it made getting that six hundred pounds slightly harder to do. But strangely enough it almost _was_ worth it. Awkward under the gaze of the posters, he moved forward and pulled one off the wall. A pale balloon was balanced over the place where the man's head should be, and James felt a pang of something like… resentment in his gut before the anger took over.

"I saw that before," Nate whispered, standing midway between James and the door, looking almost lost. Sadness was evident in his eyes, sadness mixed with something like pity. It was odd, seeing the young man's face contorted into such a belittling emotion. Smiles suited him more, James decided. They made his face less harsh, less … haggard.

"I don't know why they didn't show his face. But it's sad, innit? That no one knew him enough – or liked him enough to actually put his face there," he said and James found himself nodding dumbly. He still felt angry, only now it was underpinned by that same sense of pity that Nate seemed to be feeling. No one remembered this man. No one really cared about this _Harold Moon._ The name made his gut clench again and something echo in his mind, but all he could do was look up and meet Nate's eyes for a moment.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Come on," Nate said turning back to the door. False bravado back in place only to slip as he quickly glanced in both directions and his hands shook as he reached out and tried the door. Like before, it opened with a small jingle of the bell, only this time nothing else stirred. Regardless, Nate stood stock-still; almost as if every pore of his body was waiting to hear a sound from within. Nothing came, and James released the breath he didn't know he was holding as Nate let a small guilty smile break across his face.

James paused; his whole body seemed to be tingling as he moved forward after Nate. Each step took an age to find the ground, though it seemed only a second before he was standing in the doorway. The Nabootique stood before him - the small shop that had caused so much trouble, that had dragged him through the mud and back again and yet had made it all worthwhile in the form of the small man tentatively making his way deeper into the cloud of fading colours and dead memories.

"Shut the door, yeah? No one'll know we're here if you get out of the way," Nate said, looking up from where he was standing in the middle of the room, not entirely out of place amongst the colours. James jumped into action, knowing that he was blushing he coughed, clearing his throat and making himself feel, if possible, even more awkward and out of place. He turned and swung the door shut, careful so not to stir up any of the remaining dust or alert anyone in the vicinity that they were there. It was, he had to admit, the only place they could have hidden. Who would in their right mind hide in the one place that had caused all the trouble? James caught his reflection in a mirror as he stepped further into the shop and grimaced. Apparently he was just that sort of person.

"Wonder what happened here?" Nate asked quietly.

"I don't know." _I don__'t really want to know,_ James thought, though really, he did. It intrigued him, scared him. Worried him. How on earth was he so embroiled in it?

How?

Never the less, it was futile to guess.

"It's not here," Nate said all of a sudden and James looked over, torn from a pedestal that looked strangely like the home of someone very much like Big Face Edison. Nate was standing in front of a glass cabinet or desk with a frown taunting his lips. Blue eyes crinkled in disappointment.

"What isn't?" James asked, stepping forward.

"A poster – from the front. There was the third guy's poster here before. There isn't one outside, but there was one right here. I was trying to look at it before when they came down. It was right here," he said tapping the counter and James felt anger stirring in his gut. Was that what had started all this? Nate had been after a picture of some weird musician and it had spiralled out of control to the point where they were on the run for their lives? But something in the back of his head told him to shut up; it couldn't possibly be _that_ simple. It never was, he agreed. Everything was always a lot more complicated than it first seemed. Like Nate for example. At first glance he was all appearance and shallow emotions. Now, he understood there was a lot more to the electro pixie than first appeared; worries and anger and self-doubt. James almost wished he was still at face value so it wasn't so heartbreaking. Something in him just wanted the kid to just keep smiling, only this time to actually _mean _it. Enjoy and experience the happiness rather than fake it, desperate to remain detached and maintain his self-dependency, rather than rely on someone and be let down. James knew what it was like. He understood it. He'd been through it all. _Have you?_ Something asked, and for a moment he wasn't sure he had. He shook his head. Things were so out of place at the moment. His mind was in turmoil and so was reality.

Why did everything have to change? Though, in all honesty he wasn't _actually_ complaining.

Nate stepped back from the desk.

"I like it here," he said, eyes wide as he turned, taking in each part of the room. "It's strange, though. I kind've almost think it's familiar."

James wasn't sure whether he was meant to have heard the last quiet sentence, but he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Nate. His lithe frame so at ease in a world entirely alien to James. The room was bright and filled to the point where it was almost _noisy,_ and yet nothing stirred except them. He shifted on his feet, taking a tentative step. Nate liked the room, but James didn't; he felt out of place amongst the colours and fashion. He sighed, carefully taking a seat against the front of the counter and letting his gaze wander. Nate remained standing and a comfortable silence descended again. It may have been comfortable, but in hindsight all it really was, was a _shared_ silence.

It wasn't uncomfortable but the longer time stretched, the more James didn't really _like_ being inside the Nabootique. Nate was quiet as he browsed, leaving James with nothing but the feeling as that someone was walking around his mind, kicking the walls in annoyance or just to stop him from thinking too hard, on the shop, the shop's history, Nate or perhaps just in general. He wasn't sure. All he knew was that time seemed suddenly fluid in the shop and hours rushed past in something that felt more like ten minutes. Between the feeling of being kicked, James found himself reduced to one part stunned the other utterly confused as he took in the shop with agonising slowness. Each time he moved his eyes he stared, unable to help it. His eyes slowly absorbing each detail, rather than just the obvious ones – like the fact in certain areas the dust had been obviously stirred, while others such as the small sectioned jazz area was still caked in it. Yet even in these small places where the grey paintwork was still intact the colour and vibrancy of the place still shone through. It was strangely echoing and awkward. It was almost as though someone bright and bubbly had died and their wake was eerily quiet because everyone was used to _them_ making all the noise.

He had never felt more uncomfortable in his life, and yet he had the strange idea as though maybe, he belonged.

"What do you think happened?" Nate asked, the question had been echoing in both their minds since Nate had first asked it, but it seemed Nate had been just as apprehensive about repeating it as James had been answering it. He wasn't really up for allowing the twisted ideas of his scared mind out into the open. Nor did he really want to sound as stupid out loud as it did in his head. James wasn't entirely sure about Nate – though it seemed Nate had no intention of doing anything that James wasn't, but even _here _James felt like he intruding; intruding in a space reflecting what had happened months before. The shop felt sad, and so far he'd purposely avoided the string of beads separating upstairs from the shop - there was no chance he could convince himself to go any closer. Just imagining the feeling upstairs made his skin crawl.

"Dunno," he muttered, looking up to where the younger man was peering at several posters on the wall. Nate had circled the shop twice over. All but silent for the entire process - only speaking up for the occasional awkward question.

"Noir's electro circus," Nate murmured, out loud. James glanced over, raising an eyebrow.

"Huh?" he asked, Nate turned. An odd glazed expression on his face.

"I've seen this poster before is all – back at the Onion. Before this all started. It was buried in a cupboard."

"What were you doing rummaging through a cupboard?" James asked from where he was standing by the comfort of the jazz records. He could barely suppress a grin. It just seemed so odd… and yet entirely something Nate would do.

"I was bored." Nate shrugged, going back to the picture. James stared for a moment. The younger man looked uncomfortable, which was surprising. The whole situation was uncomfortable, but the shop seemed to _fit_ Nate, and that matching pair seemed to broaden, as if maybe he, James had been here before as well. It was as though something was whispering that this place had occurred to him in a dream, only he could barely hear it and he knew very well, thank you, that he couldn't remember _ever_ being here before or hearing the name of the place before driving the Nate look-alike in the cab two days previous.

Wandering away from where he'd been eyeing the accumulating Jazz records, James toyed with the bright coloured objects on the shelves. It was a wonder any of this stuff would have ever sold – it was a no wonder the place was abandoned; yet in the entire shop the jazz artefacts were the only items still caked in dust. It was a shame really; even thugs these days had no class.

"Found anything?" Nate asked, looking over at him. James nodded.

"There's a couple of very rare LP's over here." Nate shuddered.

"I hate jazz."

James laughed.

"What?" Nate said, rather indignant. Walking forward and standing right in front of James, hands on his hips.

"Nothing," he replied, trying not to smirk as Nate stared at him for a moment, an odd look in his eyes before he blinked, as though realising what he was doing and a faint blush crept into his cheeks.

James shuffled on his feet. Neither of them had moved and they were so close James could feel the tingle of Nate exhaling.

"So-" Nate murmured, looking up at James, eyes wide and almost expectant for something James didn't understand. He took a timid step forward, stepping right up close to James and peering up at him under his black fringe. James gulped. His body was trembling. What on earth were they doing? It was ridiculous! Three hours, they'd been almost awkwardly wandering around the shop for three hours and now they were so close all he had to do was…

"Do it, James," Nate murmured, lips parted expectantly and glinting faintly with gloss.

"Do what, sir?" James muttered, nervously licking his own lips. All the heat in his body seemed to be focussing itself towards his crotch and yet he couldn't move. Couldn't make himself close that gap. Damnit man! It was everything he wanted right then. All he could think about. Letting his hands map that skin… his tongue explore that mouth. And yet…

"This," Nate breathed, his voice was so soft the silence was louder, and yet James heard it distinctively. A truck could have driven through the front door and neither man would have noticed. Nate's fingers timidly grasped at James' arms, feet arching in his boots to push him that much higher. His lips tickled James' - nervous and tantalising as they toyed against them. Nate's eyes fluttered closed and the air tingled. James felt his body wake up as if he'd been frozen. He leaned in and kissed back. Roguish and hungry he clasped Nate's head with his hands and the kiss deepened. Strengthened. Spurred on, Nate was no longer the tantalising fairy, rather just as hungry. His hot mouth against James was pure heaven. A small moan escaped into James' mouth and the animal in him rose again. Forcing Nate back, the closest shelf rattled and shook half of its contents all over the floor. Neither noticed. Nate gasped as James rammed him against the wall, his lips breaking the contact and with a shiver James blinked. Staring into Nate's electric blue gaze.

_Sparkling blue eyes staring at him in wonder__…_

He stopped. Fear running through him like liquid fire. What on earth was he doing? Nate's hands reached out to pull him back in. He couldn't, he stepped back.

"What?" Nate asked, breathing heavy, his hair a mess from James' hands. He was hauntingly beautiful. Blue eyes shining as the lust faded from them. Small chest heaving and tickling slim fingers brushing James' chest, shock waves erupting beneath the thin material of his shirt.

"What is it?"

"No," James muttered, taking another step back. Nate's eyes crinkled, and James had to push back the thought he resembled a hurt puppy. Pushed back the want… the need. He couldn't. Couldn't ruin everything. Everything they had… _have._ Where did the 'had' come from?

"No what?" Nate asked, his eyes gleaming and James found himself floundering. He couldn't read that gaze, but something in his gut told him he should have been able to…

"I cant – I cant do this," James breathed.

"He says you can!" Nate replied, cheekily motioning to the erection taught against his jeans. James blushed and stepped back again.

"It's wrong." He regretted the words the moment they escaped his mouth, and the unreadable gaze in Nate's eyes heightened. Those words were such a contradiction; he _wanted_ it – but it was wrong because he wanted it. He'd said it and was too afraid to take it back. It was _wrong._ It was like they were _ruining _something. Only he didn't know what it was…

"No it ain't. Nothing's wrong about it," Nate replied angrily, running a hand through his hair. It was surprisingly sweaty all of a sudden. James distinctly pushed back the pride rising in his chest.

_He__'d_ made Nate that flustered that quickly. _Him._

_So what are you doing, Ballbag?_

"Not now, alright?" he said, casting his eyes down at the mess all over the floor. Trinkets littered their feet, scattered all over the place. Again he had to push back the pride and this time, laughter.

"So what now?" Nate asked, the anger still clear in his voice. James frowned. He couldn't do anything right. Why on earth had he stopped? _Cause you__'re an idiot,_ a voice answered him.

The tension was awkward and James shifted his feet. Looking anywhere but at Nate, who was playing with the pendant around his neck again.

"Fuck this," Nate swore, running a hand roughly through his hair again before sitting down where he stood.

James shifted on his feet, trying to meet Nate's gaze but Nate didn't seem to want to. His blue eyes stayed firmly on the ground in front of him as he distractedly chewed on his thumbnail. James opened his mouth to speak but nothing seemed to come. Nothing seemed right. He shut it only to open it twice more but he just couldn't find anything to say. Had Nate wanted it as much as he had? He certainly seemed the most put out, but the fear that everything they had would fall apart was rampart, and James didn't want to lose it. Didn't want their, well, friendship was the only way to put it. Didn't want that to collapse and leave him empty. As empty as he'd been before the little man had walked into his life. It was funny, before he hadn't even realised how alone he was until he felt what it was like with Nate. Complete.

With a sigh he crossed the room and sat down himself. Allowing himself the guilty pleasure of watching Nate lean back against the wall and close his eyes.

"There ain't nothing wrong with that, you know," Nate murmured, eyes still closed and eerily still. James almost swore the shop was holding its breath.

"I know."

James swore that Nate was about to ask him why he stopped, only he didn't. He remained silent, afraid to break the silence himself James let it be. Before he knew it, Nate's breathing evened out and the smaller man was asleep, his head propped up against the wall. James shut his own eyes and let Nate's breathing waft over him. It almost seemed like a lullaby he could barely remember. It was soothing. His anxiety seemed to fade away.

Opening his eyes, James let the silence of the shop consume him. It was oddly peaceful. He felt at home here. Easy, like nothing in the world could touch him. _Them._ His gaze wandered over to where Nate was peacefully leaning against the wall. Chest rising and falling. What on earth he'd done to find himself here, with Nate in the small run down shop he didn't know. But it was the most _right_ thing he could remember feeling in his life. Even more right than being on stage with his trumpet.

Getting to his feet James sighed, finally tearing his gaze away from Nate, unknowingly missing the small frown that passed across his face.

Licking his lips he let himself meander around the shop, playing with the odd trinkets, letting himself take in the objects and weird clothing he'd looked at but never _seen_ when he had looked around before. They were all the sorts of useless bright decorations (not counting the jazz LP's and stationary items of course on the opposite side) that seemed to fit with Nate. While Nate wasn't wearing anything fluro or overly flippant, he still seemed to sparkle in his skin tight black jeans black leather jacket and a red t shirt that matched the colour of his odd pointed boots.

Every now and then he'd look over and just watch the small man for a moment, check he was still there. It was odd, the feeling that maybe one minute he was and then he'd be gone. Odder still that if he was smart he, James would be the one running away. But he was in this too. Whatever this was. He had found himself remembering this small odd shop, standing outside it before he knew what he was doing, thinking back on it all day long. It was just as much his adventure as it was Nate's. Only, he couldn't tell him that. He couldn't work up the courage to say that they were in it together; rather, he was just letting Nate believe he was wallowing in his own mess.

Ashamed of himself, James turned away and it was only the feel of the beads on his hands that stopped him from walking right through them and up into the flat above.

_Flat? How do I know it__'s a flat?_ Frozen mid step James drew a shuddering breath. The shop was odd, uncomfortable, forcing him to acknowledge that those three unusual names he kept hearing were people. _Actual _living people, people who just _disappeared._ How could he go upstairs and see the _home_ of the people who'd disappeared when the shop was bad enough? And it was just full of things between homes; objects that no longer meant anything to anyone except an overly expensive price tag.

He couldn't make himself take another step. If he kept going it would just become _more_ real. He couldn't take that. His mind felt like it was screaming.

Backing away he tripped over his feet and before he could think about hitting the ground he fell against the counter, sending several things flying, which in turn caused half of the shops well laid out stationary section tumbling.

Cursing himself he wandered around the counter and set about righting the glue sticks and piling the pins back in the overturned clear dish. Pens went in the cup and tape went on the tree. Post it notes went in the pile – he stopped. Scrawled hurriedly in small childish writing in the pile were two words, circled several times. 'Little' was the first. The second was too hard to make out.

"Odd," he said aloud, casually dropping the post it note back on the pile. As odd as the note was, it was just that. An odd note. The entire shop was filled with odd things. There was even an odd book filled with stupid excuses. Who on earth would claim a woodpecker's house was on fire and their cat needed rescuing? Sure it had been worth a chuckle about, but still.

"How?" James jumped, as Nate's voice echoed in the shop. Looking up the smaller man was just where he'd been before, leaning up against the wall, only now his head was propped up on his arms. His breathing was still soft and even, though once again he muttered aloud. Just above a whisper, but it sounded earnest.

"How?"

"Nate?"

"How?" Nate whispered again. Cautious, James crossed the room, moving his feet as softly as he could. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted nothing more than to let the smaller man sleep. He looked like he needed it. Up close James could see the shadows under his eyes, the crease at his mouth. Small things he'd never noticed before. _Never allowed to notice,_ something told him. He frowned, but all the same he reached out and brushed the hair out of Nate's eyes.

Nate shifted almost _into_ James' touch. The air hitched in James' throat and he couldn't help but smile.

"How…?" Nate whispered again. James sighed pulling away. He felt so… lost. He had no idea what he was doing. What he needed, or should do…

Nate stopped. The question seemed to pass, but James waited, just watching and waiting. Nothing came. Nate once again fully entombed in silent slumber. With a sigh James sat back against the wall, keeping the smaller man in his field of vision. Watching the small rise and fall of his chest and once again letting the sound of his breathing waft over him. A lullaby… everything was suddenly irrelevant.

His eyes flickered closed.

^(*)^ SPLIT HERE

The shop was quiet as Nate's eyes flickered open. Small lights were shining through the window, alerting him to the fact it was now daylight. He sighed, pushing himself up. His hand brushed open skin and the air caught in his throat. Pulling his hand away from James' he watched as the older man shifted in his sleep, his moustache twitching almost comically before he resumed another comfortable position against the wall. Nate frowned. Why was he still here? After last night he was sure that the cabbie was going to just turn his back on him and walk right out of his life. It was a hard image, even in his head. Something strangely familiar about it… his stomach twisted painfully. Whether it was out of hunger or something else Nate wasn't overly sure. All he knew was that even though he was afraid James was going to walk out, he was the one who needed space. James _was_ going to leave eventually, that much was Nate was sure. And the other thing he was sure of, was that _he_ couldn't take it when it did eventually happen. If James was going to leave, he was going to give him the chance without making everything awkward.

Joints stiff and sore from the unusual bed he'd fashioned himself against the wall, and rather cold, Nate sniffed. He could almost feel the onset of a cold approaching. His frown deepened. He hated cold weather, made dressing worse, no one really made all that much rock star apparel winter chic and the winter wardrobe always lacked. He wasn't really one for fake fur and bright colours disguising the flannel linings of coats. He enjoyed fashion, but wasn't really one for the extremes. Not like the people who once lived here… everything was an extreme, it seemed. It was just so… cheerful. Twisting in his coat to eradicate stiffness, Nate breathed into his cupped hands, trying to get some warmth and colour back into them. His boots clicked on the lino as he moved away from the wall and he cringed at each echoing sound. James shifted in his sleep again.

Why was he here? Here, of all places? Running a hand through his hair, Nate licked his lips. The one place that had started everything… well, not the one place. The Velvet Onion was really the beginning of it all. But this place was the important one. This was where he'd been seen and chased. This was where they had been waiting, waiting for him?

_"That__'s him.__"_

_"You sure?__"_

_  
__"Yeah.__"_

This was where they'd ended up. He'd been pulled back here. Like this was where it was all meant to happen. Meant to be.

Crossing the room Nate picked up his bag and sat it on the counter, rummaging through it. His phone was _definitely_ dead. Not that he _really_ wanted to talk to anyone he knew anyway. They just annoyed him, if he thought about it. They were like soul sucking or something. He wasn't even sure the others in the band would give a shit if he just disappeared, they'd probably have a new member to replace him before the day was out. He let a derisive laugh echo in the shop before remembering he was trying to keep the older man asleep. Not that it seemed he was anywhere close to waking up at all. It was almost like James was in a coma or something - not that he'd ever seen anyone in such a situation before to offer comparison.

Digging into his bag he pulled out his brush and eyeliner and set about repairing the damage from the day before. If he was being polite he looked nothing short of worse for wear, being honest with himself he looked like shit. And he was pretty damn sure it wasn't all to do with sleeping on the floor. If anything he looked just like he felt, and that just made him feel worse. Removing the panda eyes and reapplying the black lines around his eyes he ruffled his hair. He really did look a mess, his clothes were rumpled and James' were even worse. They probably smelled a right treat as well.

Glancing between his reflection in the mirror and the sleeping northerner on the floor Nate made up his mind rather quickly. Whether or not James was there or not when he got back he needed a change of clothes. He was in Dalston and had little damn chance of getting anything of his own to wear. That meant one thing.

Shopping.

Not that he was complaining.

Bag in hand he was halfway across the room when James snorted in his sleep. The sound rippling up Nate's spine. Part of him wanted to just keep walking, make the man wake up alone and feel that spiteful rejection that he'd so easily served up before. But he couldn't make himself do it. Couldn't move any further.

"Bloody hell," he swore under his breath, crossing the room and dumping his bag back on the table. It made a sufficient noise as it did so that made him feel, however petty, that he was in a way punishing James for spurning him. Annoyed at both himself and the Northerner, he searched the room, taking a surprisingly long time to locate the stationary by the counter.

Scribbling 'Gone out. Be back as soon as I can. – N' on a post it note and taking great amusement in sticking it to James' forehead, he took his card alone and slipped out of the shop. This time cringing at the sound of the bell chiming in the shop as he left.

He wasn't sure what was where in Dalston, but it seemed as though he was walking a familiar path along the busy streets, morning in full force as people went about their own business. All he knew was that despite the fact he'd never really seen any of the shops along the way he knew the names of each one before he passed it, and not fifteen minutes walking he found himself faced with what seemed almost like the holy grail at the end of a long journey. Top Shop.

Wearing a silly grin and a hop back in his step he entered the shop like it was a lolly store (of which he'd seen one just earlier and forcibly restrained himself from entering, after all it was just past half eleven).

It was pure heaven and before he knew it he had an outfit already picked and paid for – swapping his skinnies and top for ones slightly similar, he didn't really want to go too overboard… However a red shirt caught his eye and before he knew it he was putting it through too. James did after all need something else as well, and he had a suspicion that he would look great in red.

^(*)^

James shifted uncomfortable against the wall. It was cold. _He_ was cold. Why was he cold? He'd paid the heating bill… that's why he didn't have the money. He shifted again, wrinkling his brows. There was something stuck to his forehead. Grumbling he moved a little and fell sideways, the bed shifting. _Beds don__'t shift. You moved, you twat._ He groaned, flickering his eyes open. _And since when were beds vertical?_ Light flooded his vision and he groaned louder than before. Where the hell was he?

Then it all came rushing back.

The car. The Velvet Onion. The Nabootique. The guys on the carpet. The kiss. Nate.

Nate.

His vision cleared and forgetting the paper stuck to his forehead he leapt to his feet, limbs stiff and sore from sleeping in the cold flat on the floor. Never the less he spun around, frantic. Nothing. He was gone. His bag was on the counter - open and it's contents spilling over the edge - but the place was silent. Eerily so. Nate was gone.

"Nate?"

Nothing. All James heard was his own voice echoing around and around him. Laughing at him.

"Nate?" panic rippled though him, crossing the room his eyes straining in the fragmented light. Searching every corner, shelf and shadow. Any inch of space Nate could possibly take up – even the store cupboard. Nothing.

"Nate?" he called out one last time.

Nothing. His own voice was the only thing that answered him. Panic was ripping through his chest, each breath small and strained. He was alone. Spinning around he faced the emptiness of the shop. He was gone.

_You spurned him. He ran off because of you._ James gulped, catching sight of himself in the mirror as he turned around, resigned that Nate had chosen to face everything alone. A yellow post it note was stuck on his forehead.

Cursing his own stupidity he yanked it off and winced. He was no baby, no sir, but the cold had made his skin tender… that was it.

_'Gone out. Be back as soon as I can. __– N__'_

James blinked. It was abrupt and to the point. _He__'s angry at me._ He thought with a frown, crunching the note up in his hand. _Because he has absolutely no reason to be__…_ the voice cackled and James' scowl deepened.

He glanced at the seven or so clocks on the wall and muttered several expletives under his breath.

They were all dead. _Of course they are, its been abandoned for months__… surely no one comes in here just to replace the batteries. _

Turning around James kicked out and immediately regretted it as his toe connected with the bench sending shockwaves of pain up through his foot. _That was smart._

Angrily James reached out and began twisting the skin on his arm roughly for a moment before he realised what he was doing. _What on earth__…?_ Honest to god he had no bloody idea what the hell he was doing. James Fountain had been so simple. Even with his debts he still knew where he stood. What he was doing… getting up and driving everyone around all bloody day and then playing to a room of about six people at night. That was who he was. This person – whoever he was- was so unstable. He didn't know what the hell he was doing. Where he stood, and just how long he'd keep his footing. All he knew was that Nate made sense. He had no idea what sense he made, but it was there… and last night he'd possibly made the worst mistake of his life. He knew that much.

What he didn't know was whether it was kissing Nate to begin with or breaking it up that was the mistake…

Suddenly drained he sat down where he stood, leaning back against the counter and just staring. It was so quiet. Too quiet. The silence made Nate's absence all the more obvious. He'd done nothing but inwardly wonder how the smaller man could keep going. Desperately wanting him to shut up – and yet now all he wanted was the silence to stop.

He didn't know how long it was. He could have been there an hour or three; hell it could have only been ten minutes. But watching that tentative entrance was the sweetest thing in the world. The sound of those heeled boots on the floor and the ring of the bell. It was heaven. That face: an angel.

Nate turned to shut the door forcibly, making sure not to meet James' gaze, hiding behind his hair. He didn't say a thing, and yet the sound of his breathing alone made James' body feel alive again.

Leaping to his feet he opened his mouth to say something, anything, and yet nothing came out. Nate stood there, sparkling in the fragmented light, finally facing him, his mouth a thin line and grasping three bags - two with Top Shop on the side and the third blank and ordinary - like they were going to save him.

"You got my note?" he asked, breaking the spell.

James nodded. "Yeah," he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was such as pointless action but it was something to break the air. He had done this. Him.

"I'm sorry, you know that. Don't you?" He asked, peering at Nate's face, searching for something forgiving in his stony gaze.

Nate nodded, looking away – whether he knew how sorry James was or not was debatable, as was whether or not Nate accepted the apology. Either way, James didn't know what river he was up, with or without a paddle.

"I know," Nate said, setting the bags down on the nearest shelf.

"Its just I don't know how to explain all this. It's too complex already and I don't – "

"Leave it James." Even though Nate's voice was small it made James' mouth snap closed. "Just, leave it, alright? It was just something that happened. We'll forget it, yeah?"

"Yeah," the word sounded stupid as he said it. Hell if he was a braver man he would have turned Nate around and told him that they were going to sort it out now. But then again, if he was a braver man they wouldn't be where they were. They might have just kept going, or they might not have kissed at all.

"So, err." He cleared his throat, taking a tentative step towards Nate. Nate either didn't notice or pretended not to – busying himself with his bags.

"Yeah, I went shopping. I got us some food, and I ain't changed in about two days – I probably stink. So I bought something new - I brought you back something as well." Nate said trailing off at the end, not facing James and talking instead to the bag. But never the less James was touched. He'd been counting on him still being there. Even though, it occurred to him all of a sudden, Nate had left expecting to find _him_ gone when he came back.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So, you hungry?" Nate murmured, standing facing James and yet trying not to meet his eyes.

"Yeah." A small smile twitched at Nate's mouth and James' heart thumped loudly in his chest as the smaller man rummaged in his bag and withdrew two packets of crisps bottles of juice and what was probably a rather expensive pair of satsuma's considering the weather.

"I didn't know what you'd like so I, I got – " he didn't finish the sentence and James didn't push it. He reached out and took the small bundle Nate compiled from the third plain bag.

"Thanks." It wasn't what he'd have chosen, but the gesture was more than enough – especially when Nate had come back to the shop expecting it to be empty and himself abandoned to what ever was going on. Sitting down on the stool behind the counter he set about peeling his Satsuma, watching as Nate took position on a strange chair in the opposite corner and attacked his packet of chips. It just seemed so natural James had to forcibly stop himself from just smiling like a Cheshire cat. It was just the most natural thing in the world for him to be where he was and Nate to be across the room, slouching in his seat. Neither of them seemed to find the need to talk, which at first had been disconcerting. After all, Nate did nothing _but_ talk and its absence made James twitch at the memory of being alone. Only the sound of Nate's breathing did anything to make James relax. It was peaceful. He felt rejuvenated after his sleep – of which he hadn't felt until Nate's return. Now, sitting in almost comfortable silence he was able to feel himself again. Recoup. It was nice. Though the night before hung over him – darkening each look Nate sent his way.

James frowned; he wasn't sure why he'd pulled back, really. But a sense of panic had just taken over – that what they were doing was going to break something. That somehow, it was wrong. He didn't know how to explain it to Nate, and the younger man didn't seem to want to hear an apology or an excuse or anything. He seemed almost happy to just ignore it. Though James knew it was on his mind just as much as his own – it was obvious in every single glance Nate sent his way. Darkening the blue with resentment or anger.

"You, you said you bought something."

"Yeah."

"Can I see it?" James smiled; proud of not only his initiative at breaking the silence, but also at the happiness that he could almost see wash through Nate's entire body.

"Yeah," Nate said, trying not to grin, James noticed. His own internal smile widened.

Nate turned around, rummaging in his bag before facing back clutching in his hands a bright red shirt. A bright red _silk_ shirt. James gulped.

"This one's for you!" he said holding it out.

"You want me to wear that?" James blushed at the fear proud in his voice as he looked at the shirt gleaming in the light.

"What?" Nate sounded hurt. "It's a nice shirt. It'll suit you. I bet. Put it on yeah? You can't keep wearing that yellow paisley one now can you? You look right daft and you're probably stinking up the place too."

"Why can't you smell it then?" he asked taking the shirt out of Nate's hands.

"Cause I've got used to it, you plum." James smiled, he'd seen it before Nate turned around. A glint in his eyes and a smile. It had been there. His shoulders relaxed.

"Ill put it on then," he said, letting the silk wash though his fingers. It was nice and cool and the very thought of putting it on when it was probably minus degrees outside was ludicrous. But all the same he found himself walking towards the storeroom.

"What are you doing?" Nate asked, turning around fixing his questioning blue eyes directly into James. His heart fluttered.

"I'm going in here to get changed."

"You gotta be kidding me, yeah? How old are you? Forty? An' you're ashamed of getting changed?"

"I like my privacy," James said, turning away from Nate but taking pride in the rings of laughter echoing from the smaller man as he closed the door on the shop.

He could have sworn he'd heard "I'd like to see you get your pins out." But he let it slide. Falling back against the door he held the shirt close. Nate had bought him a shirt. A red, silk shirt.

"Fuck," he whispered. It was just a shirt and yet… he didn't know what it meant. A peace offering? A gift, sure. But what consequences did it have?

"You trying it on, yet?" Nate's voice echoed through the door and James shifted. Standing right in the middle of the small enclosed dusty room.

What was he doing? Nate was right, he was a grown man and yet he was ashamed to change in front of the younger man. Ashamed that the moment he saw what James Fountain _really_ was he'd turn and run.

_You__'re a fool, James Fountain_, He thought, looking determinedly down at the shirt. Nate had bought it for him. Red. Silk. Shiny.

His fingers reached instinctively for his jacket and before he could think any more on it the jacket fell to the floor and he set about attacking the buttons on his yellow patterned shirt.

Slipping the shirt over his shoulders he casually smoothed the silk over his chest and reached down for the buttons.

_You__'ve got to be kidding me. _He thought with a small frown. No doubt Nate was outside just _grinning._

Poppers.

_Great. _

James opened the door nervously. Taking a deep breath he emerged from the darker store room and found himself facing Nate's turned back, the smaller man fiddling with something on the shelf. Nate turned and grinned.

"Oooh you look a treat." Nate grinned, his eyes glinting. James shifted, feeling Nate's gaze over every inch of him.

"It's certainly brighter than my usual garb, yes," James retorted, fiddling with the poppers on his sleeves. Nate's grin got if possible a little wider.

"Well it's a colour, ain't it?" Nate grinned, stepping forward and reaching out. All the air seemed to evaporate from James' lungs as those fingers trailed across his chest, undoing the top two poppers and ruining James' prudish attempt at modesty. James peered down and briefly caught Nate's blue gaze through his fringe staring up at him

.

"Better," Nate whispered, fingers lingering a little too long. James licked his lips. Surely he still didn't want… not after. Not now.

"You sure? I think I look ridiculous."

"You're too straight, James," Nate said softly with a small sad smile.

"How so?"

"You just are." Nate turned around, fingers leaving James' chest and James felt their loss immediately. He opened his mouth to speak; he wasn't sure what he was going to say – anything to make that gaze find him again would do.

"I hate people who are too afraid to just say it. Admit stuff out loud, you know?" Nate murmured even still he didn't go any further.

And neither did James.

They just stood there, quiet and waiting for the other one to make the first move.

"You should show me what you got." James didn't know what made him do it. Perhaps it was Nate's turned back. Perhaps it was the silence. Perhaps it was that screaming voice to just do something that made him speak first. But no matter what it was, he sighed with relief when Nate turned around, hair falling gracefully in his face, framing a portrait. James stared for a moment. Since when could someone be so beautiful?

"You sure?"

"Yeah." It probably wasn't the best place to add 'we have about five hours to fill, you may as well' and it wasn't what he _wanted _to say. It was what he would have said if he'd wanted to hide that sudden urge to see the smaller man in something else. Glimpse more of that slim body; see how something different clung to him, accentuating features hidden by the jacket and jeans he wore now. If he was braver he would have told Nate that's what he really wanted to see, maybe then they would get somewhere and the awkwardness of before would be totally eradicated. But still, what he did say managed to make Nate's mouth quirk in a small smile.

"All right, then."

James stood stock still as Nate fiddled in his bag again; boots clicking and his hips back with that decisive sway, he moved across the room and disappeared behind the screen it appeared he'd pulled further out into the room while James had been changing himself.

"You ashamed?" he couldn't help himself and Nate's quizzical look from around the corner of the screen made him grin wider.

"I mean, how old are you? Thirty? And you're ashamed of getting changed where I can see you?"

Nate grinned, getting the joke.

"Oi – I'm twenty three an' I ain't letting you see nothing when I don't get to. Don't give what you can't take old man," he beamed disappearing behind the slide again.

Several thumps echoed in the room as James set about taking the seat behind the counter and he smiled, imagining Nate removing his shoes, a slip of flesh bared as he bent over. Material taut over his arse. James smiled, his cock twitching. Something definitely not helped as Nate's black jeans flew over the top of the screen, hanging over the edge and teasing him. He was half naked behind that screen. Flesh bare in the air. The air hitched in his throat and his cock began to harden. He reached out and grabbed an empty cup half hidden amidst the stationary. His hands were white against it. Surely this wasn't right. It shouldn't be this way. He was trying to stop this getting awkward. Stop it from collapsing completely.

"Damnit." James jumped as Nate's voice echoed from behind the screen.

"What?"

"These jeans ain't gonna go with this top. Get me another pair, yeah?"

"What?" James knew his voice must have sounded high pitched or something from the sigh that came from behind the screen. Never the less Nate answered him.

"Well I can't get 'em, can I? I'm half bloody naked." James' cock twitched and he tightened his grasp on the cup. "They're just in that bag, yeah. Bring it here." A slim white hand emerged from behind the screen and James coughed. That hand… stroking, teasing…

This was not going well.

"Sure. Err yeah."

Each step was like walking to his doom. They seemed to echo around him, and his erection was doing nothing to make it any easier. He was waiting for the moment when Nate's head would emerge from behind that screen, black hair tumbling across his white flesh and he'd laugh and sneer and everything would be over.

It was the sweetest relief when it didn't happen. Passing the bag, eyes strictly diverted he left Nate to it and returned to his stool. If he didn't get some relief soon he was going to explode.

"Thanks," Nate called, his arm visible for a moment as he slipped into whatever top he was getting into. After that James closed his eyes. He didn't need this. The images of Nate's slim body burned against his eyelids never the less.

"You can open them you know. It ain't that bad." Opening his eyes James couldn't help but stare. The spotted skinny jeans hugged Nate nicely and the white shirt twisted around him emphasising the feminine slightness of his build.

"Good, yeah?"

"Is that all?" James gulped. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. A small smile cocked the corners of Nate's mouth and he stuck his hip out, watching James through his feathered fringe. That gaze was part desire, part revenge. It was almost as if he _knew_ the reason James was seated firmly behind the counter.

"Is that all you bought?" James asked, clearing his throat and for a moment he thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass across those icy blues.

"Nah, course not."

"Show me then." It wasn't a question and Nate seemed to pick up on this. He grinned.

"Alright then." Nate beamed, spinning on his heels and leaning over, revealing quite a bit of arse and bare flesh as he grabbed the second bag from where he'd kicked it out upon his entrance.

James sat back. Why on earth he was torturing himself with this, this… he didn't know how to finish that sentence. All he knew was that whatever Nate was, was arousing. He wasn't into clothes personally. They were beneath him. He was his own person, not stuck on the flight of fancy… and yet everything about Nate. Even the clothes – _especially_ the clothes – made him all the more tantalising. It was a wondering thought if the little berk knew it too as he twirled out in a blue top and similar jeans.

"I got a couple of other things, you know." Nate smiled, flicking his hair out of his face.

"Show me then." The words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth but they made Nate beam, and James sat up a little straighter. Nate twirled around and disappeared behind the screen again. This time it was slightly easier to withstand the images of Nate naked behind those boards but only just. One after another he would twirl out from behind the screen and give James something else to look at, before disappearing again – occasionally taking something off the rack from the shop.

"May as well, right?" he'd grinned, small murmurs of satisfaction erupting from behind the screen as he'd admire each new artefact before donning it and emerging.

^(*)^

There was something strangely familiar about the situation as Nate took a breath in and closed the button on his jeans. For a moment he could have sworn something like this had happened more than once before – but it was gone before he could grasp it. He loved clothes, a little more than he should, really, and most of the items in the shop were really something– but in truth he was only really enjoying the look on James' face each time he came out than the feel or look of each combination. There was something of a rush through his blood each time he watched the clench in James' jaw and temple as those small brown eyes would trail over each part of his body. It was certainly something – certainly arousing and almost masochistic - enjoying the perverse way each new outfit made the older man react. After all he'd told him he hated the way people leered at him. And he did. They were all so false. But James was different, he just _had_ something. It wasn't wrong when James looked at him. It was disheartening when James _wasn__'t_ looking at him, really.

"What about this one?" Nate asked, watching for the now familiar reaction, the tightening hands on the cup, the crease at his eyes and the clench of his jaw. He grinned. In a way, it was almost punishing James. Why, he didn't understand, would James push him away if he clearly wanted him so much? Why? That was what was pressing at him. That and how to get him to admit it. How?

God he hated questions.

^(*)^

Nate twirled out once again, grinning stupidly and James blinked, small eyes twitching as he filtered over him. No doubt his face was probably bright red; it certainly felt like it was on fire. You could toast marshmallows of that he was sure. He swallowed, if rather painfully.

This new outfit was the best so far. The green top clung to Nate in all the right places and the new shiny black pants hugged _everything_ and only made it _so_ much more delectable.

"It's err."

"It's brilliant; it's a good look, yeah? This top is genius." Nate muttered, reaching out and pulling at the edge of the bright green top, white lightning bolts pointing

downwards. As if James _needed_ directions.

Nate grinned, cocking his head to the side, hands on his hips, waiting. James swallowed again. He was pressing hard against his jeans and it was near unbearable. Nate smirked, tongue flickering out to taste the glinting cherry gloss. Tormenting him. A small noise escaped James' lips. He needed somewhere, _anywhere_ to relieve himself. He couldn't stay where he was. And he couldn't let Nate deal with it either. He couldn't bear it any more. He did the only thing he could think of. He turned and ran.

^(*)^

Nate stared as the older man just leapt up from the stool and hurled through the dangling beads separating their little heaven from the rest of the building. The rest of this old abandoned home. Nate stood where he was, he wasn't sure what to do. After all he'd been trying to get some reaction out of James and this was it. He'd run off. Run off rather than to resume what they'd started. The happiness he'd felt since he'd returned to find James sitting staring at the door waiting for him suddenly began to recede. All he wanted was James to himself, and it seemed, Nate realised, all he was doing was pushing him further away. James didn't want him. He had to face it. No matter how much it hurt. Slowly he began to follow his partner up the stairs. Each step slow and steady, leaving his heeled boot resting for a moment before he put his weight on it and stepped further in. A door slammed up ahead before he reached the landing and in a way he was glad that the older man wasn't there running around like a chicken without a head. That would have been too much and he'd probably have started laughing or something. Surely that would have gone down well with the sexual tension between them. _I think you__'re ridiculous, care to suck me off? _

He cringed at the words echoing in his head. Like James would appeal to such vulgarity anyway. Standing on the landing Nate blinked and for the first time he took in the flat. The place was just as colourful as the shop downstairs, and slightly more retro cool. A small smile gripped Nate's cheeks as he glanced around the room. The wallpaper was genius and the paintings on the walls were so weird and wonderful he thought he could lose himself in them for ages, letting his imagination run wild with the characters daubed in paint. The furniture was outlandish, and if he lived here Nate had the strange thought he'd never want to leave. It was so bright and fun – such a dark contrast to the bland walls that surrounded his boring leather furniture in the flat he barely saw these days. This place felt alive. The air seemed to vibrate. It was almost like it was smiling. Nate grinned, he felt confident and free here. Compared to the shop up here set a fire in his veins. This place remembered the good times. The store not so much.

"James?" he called, somehow knowing his way. Following an invisible trail to a closed door where he could hear the Northerner beyond. Shuffling and the echoes of relief desperately muffled. The grin slipped, if he opened the door he wouldn't have to muffle them. He wouldn't have to be ashamed. So why was he?

He reached out but his hand never touched the handle. James didn't want him. He'd thrown himself at him to the point where anything else would have left him with no ounce of self-respect left, and yet James still didn't want him. Nate closed his eyes and turned away from the door. That small act gripped his stomach tightly. It felt like giving up. And in a way it was.

Opening his eyes he let them wander over the flat again. It was beautiful and he pushed his thoughts of James just beyond the door - touching himself in a way he, Nate, should have been doing - to the far recesses of his mind. The flat was quiet and in a way it too seemed disappointed. Nate stepped forward, letting his fingers trail over the couch as he passed it, blue eyes wandering over the jacket by the door, glitter, and fake, white fur. The silver boots at the end of the banister, the neatly stacked magazines on the shelf below the alphabetised records. The table covered by a box spilling glue pens and sequins and a half personalised black jacket draped over the lot. Who ever they had been, what ever they had done, they'd left their home in a rush. Wandering over to the table, Nate smiled sadly at the very stale crumbs on a plate hidden amongst the glitter. The jacket was draped over the table haphazardly and Nate pulled it aside, a glue stick rolling off the table and several pens scattering. Nate ignored them, rather feeling the velvet against his fingers. It felt nice. He smiled; it was certainly something he'd wear if it was finished. It might be something he'd have done – the sequinned cuffs and collar. Draping it over the chair he smoothed the velvet again and his content smile faded as a piece of paper daubed in glitter pen caught his eye, half hidden by the jacket as though it belonged to the box's half spilled contents.

"Remember how a …" Nate frowned reading the lazy scrawl aloud; whoever had been asking a question of their own hadn't gotten around to finishing it. Or if they had, their question wasn't meant to be known.

"Remember how are we…" he murmured out loud, there wasn't enough glitter glue left to finish _his_ question, but he didn't really care. To be honest he didn't know what the rest of the question was himself. All he knew was that it was to do with them both. Them. We. Us.

Gathering the glue stick and pens off the floor Nate tossed them onto the table, sending the box tumbling on its side. Muttering obscenities under his breath and shocked as the monkey started bashing again, Nate set about righting it. Something caught his eye as he placed one thing after another back where it belonged; a small picture hidden amongst the oddities. Pins referencing Mick Jagger and Iggy Pop, a broken knitting needle and something that looked like a bitten off record scattered the table top, but it was the small photo that made Nate stop. The air stuck in his throat as he gazed down at the pair smiling up at him. James beamed up at him. All curls and brown cords. Small eyes crinkled in that happy face, arm wrapped around a smaller man, long black hair feathered around a face he knew all too well. There was nothing hiding that face. Nothing to give him anything to excuse. He knew that nose – those cheekbones. There was no one on earth with those to match.

"That's us," he murmured aloud. His eyes wide he stared at the picture clenched tight in his fingers.

"That's _us,_" he said again. The monkey in his head was suddenly dead and everything seemed far too quiet for a moment.

His lips almost quirked into a semblance of a smile just as the bell echoed downstairs and a voice rippled up the stairs shattering the silence. Nate froze, hand clenching around the photo just as James ripped the door open. Standing in the middle of the bathroom doorway, red shirt in all it's glory and James gleaming with a thin film of sweat, completely dishevelled. If circumstances were different Nate was one hundred percent sure he would have jumped him and made the older man hard all over again. Nothing seemed to be going his way, he thought dejectedly.

"They're here," the voice echoing up the stairs was deep and it made the monkey in Nate's head start to clap again. It was an odd sensation; he'd been revelling in the silence and now shattered it almost hurt each time the cymbals met.

He glanced behind him and met James' eyes. They asked Nate what to do as if James was screaming.

"Over there," Nate murmured as softly as he could. Shoving the photo in his pocket and straining to hear every sound that rippled up the stairs. Wherever they ran to they were followed. Found.

It seemed so pointless. Hell, he didn't even know why they were chasing him. He didn't know why he just didn't give up. Leaning against the wall, Nate felt James' fingers on his back and the taller man's breath on the nape of his neck. He smiled, _that_ was why he didn't just give up. The older twat behind him that made him feel… made him _feel_ more than anyone had he could ever remember. That was why he wasn't giving in. That was why he was enjoying himself so much. That's why he wasn't pressing James' inability to break their friendship into something new.

He didn't want to see the other man turn his back and walk away.

The stairs creaked and Nate shut his eyes. It was possibly the bravest and stupidest thing he could think of. But James - who was pressed hard against both the wall and him, as though if he couldn't be seen nothing could happen to him – seemed unable to manage any other ideas, and there wasn't really time to do anything else as a second pair of boots joined the first on the stairs. They were just two metres away from capture or escape. The flat seemed to have held its breath with him and not a thing moved except the two on the stairs. Nate had stopped breathing a long time before the first man emerged into his line of vision. He was tall, dark and wore nothing but black. Nate watched, straining to not even blink loud enough for him to hear them, entranced by the strange ensemble the man was wearing – the glitter in the coat, the feathers in the collar. The second man emerged, though he wasn't really a man, instead nothing but a boy. A small, blonde boy in an unusual dress or robes or whatever he wanted to call it.

"They're definitely here, Kirk," The taller darker man said, his voice deep and enchanting. Nate clenched his eyes shut and waited. Feeling rather than seeing as the pair moved into the flat. Neither of them turned to see them and Nate was feeling his luck teetering on the edge of a knife. Their luck. Not his.

"And I can tell you, Kirk. Its nice to have you back as my partner. I have never understood why Harrison – it astounds me that it's taken Dennis this long to come to his senses - " The taller man was saying as Nate tore his eyes open and grabbed a handful of whatever he could of James, he lurched himself off the wall and took to the stairs. He could hear James' intake of breath, the gasp and following yell of the two upstairs, the sound of his boots on the stairs, but all he could take in was the sound of his heart beating twice the normal speed and the monkey bashing away. All he could feel was his hand clenched on James' shirt and the need to get away.

He didn't know how he did it, but he had his bag in his hands and was fumbling with the back door before he seemed to blink. Everything was moving slowly and yet he couldn't catch his breath. James was hovering close enough that Nate was sure there was no air between them and then they were outside. The air cold, rushing against him and making him shiver as they pelted up the back alley. James' feet were pounding the ground as his large strides took him almost twice the distance as Nate's. The air rushed in and out of his chest painfully and the monkey kept hitting him, the sounds were so harsh it seemed like he was screaming. Neither of them knew where they were, but it seemed James had every intention of heading straight back to the taxi and Nate could barely breathe, let alone think of something smart enough to stop him. All he knew was that they needed to get away. Their haven was gone – once again they were on the run.

He smiled.


	6. How?

AN: And here's chapter six. Sorry for the length between updates, as it's fairly obvious this one was HUGE and the rest of the fic is just getting even bigger. That and I get distracted by LJ, hahaha. The next update shouldn't be too far along; I have it written I'm just waiting on chapter eight. It's getting there! Thanks to everyone who's giving this fic a go. It's unorthodox but it's a lot of fun and effort on my end, haha. I hope you're enjoying it! The end is near, for me anyway! 3 thanks for reading, and please drop me a review! They mean a lot, 3

The Captain.

Chapter Six

How?

_I know that my face is only too familiar to your sleep  
I can see it in your eyes and I can tell by your body heat  
Why are you taking so long?  
You need me to come and find you, honey?_

Come here Boy

Imogen Heap

Old Faithful seemed a rather clichéd name for their taxi, although James was beginning to argue with himself against any another option, not that he would admit it. After all, She was proving to be quite a faithful car – starting first go, surviving jumped curbs and cut corners, but more importantly she seemed to house their faith in themselves, in running, which was stupid, because running was a natural instinct, it's what he – no _people_ did. When they were in trouble they ran, and while James wouldn't ever admit it out loud, he agreed with Nate in saying that when Old Faithful decided to die, then their time was up. No more running.

That's if they didn't get caught first.

But Old Faithful had remained true, sprinting them away through the maze of back alleys and laneways away from Nabootique, away from Dalston, twisting through the foray following James' direction with ease. The only issue James had had so far was figuring out how he knew the backstreets of a suburb he didn't _know_. It was a topic of thought that had led the pair from adrenaline pounding breathing into a fashionably easy silence.

At first it was punctuated by small glances caught between them, feeling Nate's eyes on him, feeling his hand near the dials as he changed gear. He wasn't sure what had instigated it, what had happened last night and that early morning – whether it was his own embarrassment keeping both of them quiet, after all it wasn't quite a normal thing to wank off thinking of someone you'd been on the run with for a day, not in his world, anyway. It might be in heist gangs, in a world of guns and speed and psychological misdemeanours and manipulation, but in the world of Ho – James Fountain it certainly wasn't. This whole thing, being on the run with no idea what-so ever, it certainly wasn't a normal day, and perhaps that shared experience, the sheer terror of what it felt like being cornered back at the shop with the tall dark man and his child apprentice only metres away, was what had let this quiet descend. James wasn't sure, all he knew was that it was _peaceful. _So he let it be.

But the longer James let the silence continue, the easier it became, zoning out into a world entirely his own. Him and the road was all that existed, yes sir. Bold and brazen, facing the terrain of the London cityscape, he was in control. But no matter how many times he told himself that, Nate kept popping up into his thoughts. When he turned the corner he wondered whether Nate was watching him; when they went through the lights, he wondered whether Nate wanted the music back on; as they drove up the lane, he wondered whether Nate knew he was ignoring him; when he glanced in the rear view – checking for that nerve-wracking taxi or the carpet - he wondered if Nate was looking out for them as well. It was only when he took the courage to look at the smaller man did he realise he was asleep, and by the easy nature of his breathing James realised he had been for some time. He sighed and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to a beat wandering through his head.

Things were way too complex for a Saturday, he thought wryly and turned his gaze skywards.

The sun was finally working its way below the horizon, and a small smile etched itself on James' face. It was finally getting late. They'd be seeing Court soon. And despite what he wanted – to leave everything that caused that rampant fear he'd experienced earlier far behind - his gut was punctuated with something that felt a lot like disappointment.

^(*)^

"Hey." Nate shifted uncomfortably.

"Hey," the voice said again and he shifted, again. The bed was hard. Hard and cold.

"Hey!" the voice was louder now, and there was a grumbling rush of sound that ground his senses back to reality. Not a bed, the car. That's right they were in the car. Him and James.

"Hey," he murmured, this time returning the phrase to the northern man in the drivers seat as he moved to a sitting position with a yawn. James was eating a sandwich, something meaty with … mustard it seemed. The smell filled the car. He wrinkled his nose, running a hand through his hair. He probably looked a right mess, but he didn't overly care.

"You were mumbling in your sleep again," James said, taking a large bite out of his sandwich. Nate looked over, confused.

"Again?" he asked, James blushed and looked away.

"Er, yeah," the northerner replied, taking another bite to certify his embarrassment. Nate laughed, trying to brush off his own embarrassment and the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. What on earth had he said? "Well then what was I saying?"

"How," James replied simply.

"How?"

"Yeah, just How – like a question you want answered. Or something. You just keep muttering it." Nate looked away, the feeling in his gut strengthening as James faced him. Small eyes focussed. That damn question, it wouldn't leave him be and he didn't know what it was. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say.

"How long was I out for?" it seemed appropriate enough, but that nagging feeling he had let something slip was still strong in his gut. The monkey's soft banging wasn't helping either.

"Bout an hour," James replied. "I went across the road and got these," he said reaching over and chucking Nate a sandwich. Nate grinned looking down at it. Genius. He wasn't sure what he'd brought back for food had gone down too well with the Northerner, but it seemed James had some idea on food – proper food – by the dinner he'd found. Not only had he found something he liked, but he'd also found Nate's favourite spread.

"Looked like something you'd eat," James grumbled taking a bite out of a second sandwich sitting in his lap, half watching Nate out of the corner of his eye.

"What does that mean?" Nate asked, grinning as he took a bite out of his own; Nutella squishing between his tongue and his cheeks as he felt James' gaze on him, pretending not to notice.

"Absolute rubbish," James grunted again. Nate couldn't help it. He giggled.

"So what was I saying before?" he grinned, suddenly feeling reckless.

"What do you mean?"

"You said I was doing it again, what did I say last time?"

"Same thing," James replied, rising a cup of what smelled like coffee to his lips to drain what was left of it.

"Must be an important question."

Nate fell silent and tried to keep the grin plastered on his face. James seemed to notice and putting the coffee down he tried to meet Nate's eyes. Nate looked away, he couldn't meet them. Something niggled in his gut and he just couldn't meet James' eyes; James' small eyes desperately trying to find his own, stare right through him and know all the answers. Answers to what? Perhaps that was what he was afraid of.

"I'll tell you about it when I've figured out what the question actually is," he replied, shifting in his seat again, once again uncomfortable. That gaze seemed to reach into him; making the damn monkey go silent and even without meeting his gaze it seemed to pull at something. It was the oddest feeling he'd ever had, almost like déjà vu except it was more pronounced and better hidden at the same time. His mind suddenly strayed to the picture burning in his pocket and the Monkey started up again. Awkwardly he let the small silence continue as he nervously reached inside his jacket to grasp the old photograph. He wanted to get it out, but something said not to…. Something in the back of his mind didn't want to know where the thing had come from. Didn't want to know who the two people were and why they looked so similar to him and James … why they _were_ him and James.

James grunted, small eyes shifting from him to the road and the realisation that James had been watching him made Nate jump and jerk his hand out of his pocket. Not now – he couldn't ruin it now. Things just seemed so … comfortable. Why should he _want _to ruin it, because ruin it is what would happen. All the picture had done was unsettle him, and even he knew he was taking the whole debacle strangely well. If he showed James the picture he'd run off and he'd never see him again. It was a wonder it hadn't happened already, considering everything that was going on. Nate had seen how uncomfortable James had been back at the shop, and he knew leaving had been on the taxi driver's mind more than once. But Nate didn't want him to leave, and he had the strange feeling James didn't really want to leave either. Nervous, he looked away from James to out the window and it was only then that he noticed that they weren't going anywhere. The car was stationary on the side of the road, the lights off and even the streets outside strangely empty.

"Why have we stopped?" he asked stupidly, the last thing he remembered was a set of traffic lights back in Dalston, fear and adrenaline still pounding through his veins.

"We're here," James grunted in reply, a small wry smile hidden in James' moustache.

"Where is here?" Nate asked, he was lost – although he'd travelled a fair bit, been to Leeds and Berlin and Dublin. But in all honesty in London – he'd never ventured beyond Camden on his own. With the band they'd been in Bristol and Manchester before Dalston, but he'd never been to Brent before. It was an odd change of scene and he could tell by the dullness of the shops surrounding the car that this was the type of scene that James preferred. But then, James it seemed preferred everything a little monotone. Nate couldn't see the point of life if everything was a different shade of brown, which for the taxi driver it seemed to be. Yes he was wearing a red shirt and black trousers. But in all honesty _he _had dressed the older man. It was just so odd. He was everything that Nate didn't understand, and yet he didn't want to get rid of him at all. He just wanted to stay around. Didn't matter what the guy would do – he just, it was almost as though the man gave him direction. Which was odd, he knew who he was, Nate Warner, lead singer of Black Notice. He didn't need anyone. He'd been on his own – surviving on his own two feet for long enough. The band was his crowning glory, his attempt at fame and fortune and ultimate success. But in the day he'd spent with the taxi driver he'd felt his self sufficiency diminish. Right at the moment if James disappeared he'd be ultimately lost. The man wasn't at all what he was used to, but there was something to his company, to his stature – something in those small brooding eyes that Nate didn't want to give up at all. Something in that photograph that stood to attention in the back of his mind. Screaming of a past he had never had, but always desperately wanted….

He'd never been so damn confused in his entire life. It scared him.

Scared him possibly even more than the odd balls chasing him. And they scared him shit loads. He didn't even know why they were doing it. Didn't know why on earth he'd shown up at the dingy little shop. But even still he felt bad calling it dingy. Sure it wasn't much, but there'd been a kindred spirit about it. He'd felt at home there. At home with the small shop and the bright colours and the monochrome northerner in the corner. It was possibly the oddest thing he'd ever felt before, and it was all connected to the strange feeling in the back of his mind, the feeling there was something he was missing. A feeling he'd had even before he'd knocked over the box and picked up the photo of their doppelgangers. And to be perfectly honest he felt sure whoever kept nagging at him that something was missing were right – with or without the picture. Whoever they were. He _was_ missing something. Only he didn't know what. Didn't know where or who. Or _how. _Just that he was.

"It's the centre of the jazz scene. Near the outskirts."

"I don't travel in London much."

"I guessed as much," James added with a wry smile that made Nate break one of his own. He laughed.

"I stick where I fit in. An that ain't here."

"Only place you stick in is with the Stick insects," James chuckled, "But if it makes you feel any better I'll protect you." It was utterly ridiculous considering it had been _him_ who saved them both times, and yet Nate laughed. It was the easiest sounding thing in the world.

"From what? We're in a car in the middle of Nowhere."

"It's not Nowhere. It's Chauster Road."

"Whatever. Anyway – s'not like it's some dark dingy alley, innit? It's a well lit street – full of-" he stopped to glance out the window. Full of weird boring jazzo's apparently.

"People like me?" James laughed, and Nate closed his mouth with a childish frown.

"Not all jazz people are like me – you said you thought you might be allergic – let's see shall we?" James grinned, using his controls to make the passenger window begin to wind down.

"Breathe in the air of the jazz population of London! Breathe it in! Every mouthful contaminated with _jaaazzz!_" James laughed at the disgust written all over Nate's face. Nate realised the trap he'd fallen into and felt his cheeks redden.

"Alrigh' you win," he growled, taking another bite out of his sandwich to avoid looking at James or even start grinning again. It was just so much fun, all of it. And any sane person knew it _shouldn__'__t _be. He was on the run for his _life _– he shouldn't be enjoying it so much. He should be terrified beyond belief and in a way he was. Only being with James made it comically irrelevant. That was the most disconcerting bit. It wasn't the situation – it was James and James alone. And James was in the photo too….

He had to show him.

But just not yet…

^(*)^

"It's almost six, we may as well go in," James murmured, avoiding Nate's eyes. Time seemed fluid in the car, like it had no decision about how fast it was allowed to go. When they'd first pulled themselves inside Old Faithful, hearts beating in their mouths each second seemed to drag by; everything seemed slow, letting Nate fall into a septic state of consciousness where everything was virtually _stopped_ and yet he could see where it was all going, where it would all end up – all except them, he had no idea where they were going, or whether or not the pair behind them would catch up. But from the moment when five minutes had passed, agonising in each dragging second, when at last they both seemed to sigh with relief, sure that they were free for now, from that moment time seemed to rush by. Before Nate knew his body seemed to give out and he was asleep before he really knew he was tired, and then, as if to slap him in the face they were stopped outside the club they were meeting Court and the time that was just him and James was running through his fingers like water.

"Yeah," he said back, slightly disappointed as he watched James open the door and leave Old Faithful first. In slamming the car's door James had cemented himself back in his old life, or if not quite that far yet – he was certainly escaping Old Faithful and the shared world she inhibited. In leaving the car they were entering James' world, and despite the strange desire to know everything he could about the older man, Nate regretted agreeing to meet Court; she was a part of James' life, and in meeting her, James was reconnecting to it - breaking and changing the world that was just _theirs_. Solely James and Nate, Nate and James.

But Court wasn't at the bar or at the restaurant when they arrived, which left James to stare oddly around the place and Nate to try and hide his bizarre satisfaction she hadn't shown on time, hiding it behind making an uncomfortable assessment of the 'club' James had dragged him to. It was small, with a tiny stage and booths, high tables and stools rather than dancing room. The small restaurant connected off from the far corner and even considering the size of the place it was horribly empty. If anything it was the type of place designed to give a stage to acts no one else wanted, a back cupboard used to placate the – in this case – jazzy fools that they and their small audience could hide in and celebrate without fuss.

"Nice place," Nate said, trying to make conversation and stop James looking like he was a deer in headlights.

"Yeah," James said back, nothing more than a whisper.

"Look, we'll get a drink yeah? And wait for her. She shouldn't be too long," he said, laying a hand on James' arm, the older man shrugged out of it.

"Just, don't," he murmured, stepping aside. Something sour welled in Nate's stomach and he folded his hands in each other. There was something about that refusal that felt _familiar._

"Oh, okay. Sure."

But no sooner had they received their drinks a small willowy girl entered the club, a laptop bag over one shoulder and looking like she'd crawled out of a ditch, Nate had to admit when she smiled and came over. He wasn't usually one to take first appearances to full value – and he knew it was a combination of rejection and her prior connection to James that made him immediately take offence to her more than anything else. But never the less, he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at her boring black boots, rumpled business suit and unkempt hair. She looked like a workaholic, but nice and polite and easy to get along with and he didn't like it one bit. She knew James and he didn't.

James welcomed her into his life as much as he could. She was the one he called when he _they_ needed help. He, Nate, was the problem. He was kept at arms length.

He hated her.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, James. Traffic was hell and some poor bloke barely got through customs. Had to be right in front of me, didn't he? I was going to go home and get changed before I came down but I never got the chance. I was in line for about an hour." She grinned, setting her bags down and drawing the noncommittal 'don't touch me' James into a warm and reciprocating hug. Nate knew he was glaring and let himself. Stupid woman. She had everything he wanted right in her arms at that moment. Bloody thing probably knew it too.

"Come on, we should go and sit down, you can tell me what on earth this mess is you've got yourself into," Court said with a smile, though Nate noticed her quick glance in his direction at her mention of the word 'mess'. James, however, looked at the ground.

"Good idea," he mumbled taking up Court's bag and heading for the small restaurant.

^(*)^

They'd barely sat down before Court was asking far too many questions, and giving Nate as many dark looks she could muster between James' broken description and Nate's own versions hurriedly interrupted. The younger man looked despondent under Court's interrogation, and James felt a twinge of guilt, perhaps he should have warned the younger man of Court's persona a little in the car, he was pretty sure Nate thought she didn't like him. It was funny; Court was the type of person James was sure Nate would get along with, being a music journalist, though it seemed he was rather mistaken.

"I'll be back in a moment," Nate said all of a sudden, giving James a small pained smile as he left the table. James couldn't help but smile back. _No! Stop it. Stop encouraging yourself, and him._

Court waited a moment before she spoke.

"James, you're not stupid, but what on earth has gotten into you? Why on earth are you running around with this guy?" she asked, leaning over the table and fixing her gaze directly into his. She did this too much, Court did. She had this look that made you unable to avoid answering or even move.

"James?" He sighed and met her gaze voluntarily.

"It's not just him," he said, almost defeated. Speaking it out loud gave up the game. He couldn't deny it anymore.

"What's not?"

"This whole thing. It's not just him that the shop was following. It, it was happening to me too."

"The shop thing?"

He nodded.

"I was dropping off a fare the day before yesterday – at the Velvet Onion. One of his band mates. Only on the way there we got caught in traffic and stopped outside this little shop. My fare commented on its name – the Nabootique. I didn't really think any more on it. It was just a name, then I dropped him off at the club, and Nate came out and got him. I'm driving back to Brent and before I know what the hell I'm doing, Court, I'm standing outside the shop. I didn't even think about stopping. I can't even remember thinking anything. All I know is that something told me to stop and I did and then I was outside the shop staring at it. It scared me. But I still didn't do a thing. I didn't know what to do. I just tried to get it out of my head, only it wouldn't. Not really. Then yesterday I'm dropping off this fare in Camden and the news comes on the radio. It's about the Nabootique. Fair enough – I switch stations. Same story. I change it again, leaving it in-between stations, Court and the same story comes on again. It was following me. And then the next thing I know Nate gets in the back of the car and tells me he wants to go to the Nabootique and this whole thing just gets bigger and bigger. There's people chasing us all over the place and it's all got something to do with this Nabootique and Nate and I don't know what to do."

"You haven't told him you're involved, have you?" He shook his head, finally breaking eye contact with her and slumping down in his seat.

"I don't know why I haven't, its like I want to blame him for something, only I don't even know what that is! I don't know where I stand with him. It's like I've known him my entire life, but I've never met him before. I can't ever remember seeing him before the day before yesterday."

Court was silent, watching him, chin resting on her folded hands and elbows on the table. Her eyes scrutinised him like a bird watching her prey. She was always like this, it was part of the reason she was such a good journalist, he was sure. She could make anyone admit their darkest secrets, and then when it was all over take their hand and make them feel like they'd done the world a service.

"What should I do, Court?" he whispered, flickering his gaze back into hers.

"I think you should tell him," she said, trying to give him a smile. He took it gratefully, even though it was just a small upturn of her cheeks.

"You're in this together, James. He needs to know he's not alone in this. It's probably really hard for him, thinking that he's dragging you into all this mess that he doesn't know anything about either - unless he does and isn't saying."

"He doesn't know, Court. You should see him when he's –" he stopped. He shouldn't say anything else. He was supposed to be suppressing the weight in his heart that was currently everything to do with Nate. If he started talking to Court she'd make him bring it all out and then bring with it, the mess he'd been trying to avoid.

"You love him, don't you." James wasn't sure whether it was a question or a statement, he just opened his mouth like a fish, unsure whether to deny it or just say nothing. He couldn't admit it. It just wasn't right.

"You need to tell him." This time James wasn't sure whether she meant his feelings or that they really were embroiled in a mutual mess. Either way he had no chance to reply as Nate chose that moment to reappear.

"Tell me what?" he asked, sliding into his chair, his face blank and James felt an unpleasant pull in his stomach that made him question just how long Nate had been within earshot.

"We probably need to order," Court muttered, trying to cover the situation as best she could to which James was thankful. Never the less, the way Nate kept trying to meet his eyes made him doubly nervous about whether or not the young showman had been eavesdropping.

"Yeah," Nate sighed after a second, picking up the menu and hiding behind it. James almost breathed a sigh of relief, however Nate only hid for a moment. The next second he slammed it down on the table and fixed his big blue eyes directly into James. James froze.

"Why didn't you tell me?" the glare in Nate's eyes told James what he'd been dreading. Nate had been eavesdropping and for most of the conversation it seemed.

"I. I – " nothing came. Nothing seemed to be able to form in his mind to explain.

Nate just glared.

"Blame me! Why? Why is it my fault? Why does it have to be my fault? There's two of us. There's always been two of us. Why blame me for things that are out of my control? I can't help it! Neither can you! So why punish me? Why didn't you just tell me? Did it make it any less of a burden giving me all the guilt? Huh?" Nate said, waiting, just breathing heavily and James sat there. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even really know why he'd left Nate to believe it was all his doing and he, James, was just a helpless spectator dragged into the game by Nate's doing. The bile in his throat was definitely guilt at that point.

"It's not all my fault!" Nate said, his voice cracking and James was sure for a moment he was precariously close to tears. "I don't understand any of this, you know! I don't know why that shop won't leave me alone! I don't know why I got in your taxi out of all of them! I don't know why I showed up there or why I went inside. I don't know why they recognised me or why they followed. I don't know why you wont leave me or why that club owner called me Vince or why we're in this damn photo or why whenever I look at you I get this clench in my gut that tells me I should bloody well know! Because it all hurts – all of it. I feel like I belong somewhere and I was stupid enough to think I did! And really you're just like everyone else! I don't deserve to be trusted or cared about or nothing. I'm nothing – and I'm running and I don't know why. And you have no right to try and blame me for something, James, that you were involved in _before_ me!" Nate was heaving, still glaring at him and those blue eyes glaring with something akin to hate, and that hurt a lot more than James was prepared for.

James blinked and then nervously he looked down at the photograph Nate had slammed on the table as he'd yelled. A photograph that was aged and a little worn at the edges as though relentlessly held and stared at. Two figures stared up at him, draped in each other's arms beaming at the camera. A tall, small eyed northerner with his curls and brown dress sense and a small, slight androgyne in a ridiculous suit made of sequins. He stared at the aged picture of them and all the air left him. This didn't make sense. It wasn't real.

"How?" James whispered, looking up to meet Nate's eyes – Court, the rest of the restaurant, most of whom were staring at them, the rest of the world oblivious to him. They were alone and he was scared. Adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"I don't know," Nate replied, just as softly. James looked back at the picture. They looked happy. The pair of them.

"I, I – I er." He shook his head.

"That cant be us," James said, more to himself as he shook his head. Trying to forcibly remove the image of himself and Nate from his mind. _That won__'__t woooooorrrrk! _The voice sang.

"That's not us. I don't know where you got that, but that's not us." Nate's eyes crinkled as something like anger found them.

"You think I _forged_ it or something?" he said, scandalised.

"It's not us!"

"How can it not be?"

"I am James Fountain! That's who I am! And I've never seen you before! I was never in that photo!"

"It is us! You cant sit there and tell me after all of this has happened that everything you remember before six months ago is all weird!" James' stomach dropped and he knew his mouth was open. He slammed it shut. He couldn't say it. He didn't know why, but something wanted to stop himself from admitting that some of this was partially his.

"Like it's not really a memory, but a story or something!" Nate was looking at him, eyes wide and glaring with unshed tears. He was clutching at straws, James realised.

"It's not weird," James said, forcibly, lying through his teeth. He got to his feet, he was half aware that the entire restaurant was looking at him, but he didn't care. He didn't even say anything to Court. Court who he had called, and who had been sitting watching in awe at the spectacle in front of her. Nonplussed about it all.

"James!" Nate half yelled at him, and James closed his eyes for a moment before doing the one thing that seemed natural, he ran. He pushed back his chair and practically sprinted across the room, heading for the door. His stomach was twisted in a knot, that the smaller man would get to his feet and chase after him, but all he needed was escape. He couldn't face it. He needed to escape it. Escape those eyes. Escape that look, that trembling stature as he tried to not to cry. That assurance that James was the one being stupid, not him.

_Not so much a man of action now, are we?_ The voice sneered at him as he escaped through the side exit into the back alley.

^(*)^

"He's not as strong as he likes to think," Court murmured in the wake of James' disappearance, and Nate looked at her, tears running in streaks down his cheeks. "He wont survive this without you, whatever it is. Go after him."

Nate nodded, and without another second he snatched up the photograph.

"Keep him safe – bring him back. I'll be waiting." He nodded at her and tried for a smile to show her his thanks, after all, she had come on the basis that it was his problem alone. She smiled back at him, accepting whatever meaning she could from the tear stained upturn of his cheeks before he ran out after James.

"James!" He was just up the alley – not ten steps in front of him.

"Leave me be!" James said, but Nate ignored him, instead he found the insecurity in James' attempt to leave and followed after him.

"Look – James, I'm sorry! I just, I mean look at it! – It's us! How can this be us? I just, I don't understand it!"

"Neither do I! All I know, Nate, is that I drove past that shop the other day and then it's on the radio and then you want me to drive you there and all this, this _shit _explodes and I'm running away from blokes in bleeding _dresses_ an it all comes down to you! I've never seen you before! An' then you stand there and shove this picture in my face claiming it's us, but I don't know you!" James shrieked, rounding on Nate and screaming. Nate wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and cry at the desperation in James' voice. The older man wanted nothing more than to run off and leave him. But he wouldn't let him. The monkey in his head was banging away and he knew in his gut – right into his very being that he couldn't let James leave him.

"It is us! I mean look at it! You're a jazz man, an this guy's an electro fan! That's us! How many people can manage that combo and not kill each other? Look at me – James I mean look! There ain't anyone in the world that looks like me – I'm like a bleeding goblin, but this guy's exactly the same! All that's different's the hair! An all I really remember is six months ago! An' that Naboo guy's been gone six months – I mean all I know is that I got six months of memories an' the rest's all blurry like it's a story I only got told once or sommat! Memories ain't that blank! I mean, look at the guys chasing us!"

"Chasing you!" James replied, biting back the urge to ask more about his blank memories. The more Nate said the more James' anxiety grew … everything was fitting in, but none of it made _sense_. Real sense. It was all like a fairy tale, but he wasn't denying the existence of fairy tales either….

"I mean, all I got, James, is me! But ever since I met you, I get this feeling in my gut like I belong somewhere! I don't ever remember being able to talk to someone about anything the same way I've been talking to you! I ain't stupid or batshit crazy! I mean, James – honestly you can't look at this an' not see something there! You can't deny this – please!" he stopped; he didn't have anything left to say. The ball was in James' court and Nate felt himself on edge. His entire existence seemed to be resting on what the tall Northerner said next. He wanted desperately for the look in his eyes to disappear. The anger and uncertainty and … fear that were so startlingly present in the small orbs. The anger and uncertainty Nate found he could handle – it was the fear that clenched his heart and made him close his mouth to stop himself breaking down and sobbing relentlessly. He just _fit in_ with James. They just – worked. How could that be wrong?

James shifted awkwardly, two grown men standing in the middle of an alley off the main street – their clothes rumpled and both heinously close to tears – it was enough to make Nate rethink the situation. He must look a right mess, but it was all just so irrelevant. Around James he didn't need to wear the mask. He didn't need any of it. He was just _him_ and he didn't want James or that feeling to disappear again. It was perhaps the oddest feeling he could remember. The stars twinkled overhead almost mocking him as he waited in the silence; watching James' inner fight struggle to come to a decision.

The Moon was quiet and as intrigued as his simple brain could comprehend, after all – he had been told not to talk to the funny girl and the tall ball bag again. Not that now was the best time to reintroduce himself anyway.

"_Please_ James," Nate whispered this time. He couldn't manage anything else. He was just so … tired. Drained, both physically and emotionally. The idea of losing James had in the last five minutes sapped his strength ridiculously well.

"I – " James began and Nate felt himself hang onto every single sound that escaped James' nervous lips. He licked them before speaking again, voice stronger than before.

"I'm sorry – Nate I am. But I, I cant do this anymore. I – I have to go." Nate stood, shell shocked, unable to comprehend what his ears had told his brain. The quiet determination in James' voice proving more powerful than the hysterical yelling prominent only moments earlier.

"No," he managed out. "Please –"

"I'm sorry – _really_. But I cant. It's too much," James said again, trying to express the point with a frazzled wave of his arms.

"Please – James-" Nate knew he sounded pathetically close to pleading, but it wasn't right. James couldn't leave. Something was screaming at him, something he couldn't understand properly – like he was trying to listen to someone whispering from the other side of a window. But he knew they were there. Knew they were talking to _him_ and knew that the picture meant something and James shouldn't – couldn't - leave. It wouldn't be right.

James shook his head.

"Look I know this is crazy! I know I'm crazy! James dammit! But please- this isn't fake. I know it. It means something!"

"What you're suggesting is preposterous! I have a life to go back to!"

"Please – James," Nate tried again, but by now he could see James was struggling to keep his determination in check. James was withering, but so was he. He was just so damn tired….

"No," James muttered, turning around. Nate knew the trick; if you couldn't see them then it made it easier to lie. You didn't have to look them in the eye. That had been his trick in the foster homes … when they told him they were moving him again, he'd look away so they couldn't see the disappointment. Had that been real? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything except James couldn't leave him.

"I'm sorry." It was so quiet that Nate almost missed it, but the world seemed to be slightly muted anyway, even the sounds of the cars going past the alley were distorted a little.

"Bye Little man," James murmured, carefully taking one quick glance into Nate's eyes before he turned away, walking back towards the entrance to the alley. Nate stood still, standing right where James had left him. Watching his turned back, his body just felt so … drained. Emotionally drained, physically drained; he was just so tired. His last reason – only reason to keep running had just walked out. And it was his fault. The picture's fault. He took it out, tall jazz man with an almost comical moustache and tiny eyes peered out from the page. Hair curling over his forehead and a self conscious grin on his face, the other, shorter man was smiling boldly. His long audacious hair carefully dyed and perfectly styled seemed almost lazy in the photo. He was wearing something ridiculously symmetrical, shiny and completely one piece, like some ridiculous glitter mirrorball suit. It was almost brilliant in the sheer hilarity of its concoction. But it did look good. They both looked hopelessly happy and content – with everything, especially each other's company. He wanted that. Why couldn't he have it? Why, if it really was them, why did he have to lose it? Why had it gone? More importantly how had it gone?

How?

Had they been forced apart? Or had one of them walked away, like James was doing now? A sad little farewell speech before nothing. He doubted it, or really, he didn't have much of a clue. The shop had just emptied six months ago with no warning or nothing. Something had happened. Something Nate didn't yet understand. How had it all happened? How. That question again.

How.

Glancing down at the picture again, he smiled sadly. They looked just so damn happy…. But even still, if they'd said goodbye before, Nate was sure as hell not going to let it happen again. He wanted that picture back….

"_Goodbye, Little Man.__"_

That small and irrevocably sad final farewell echoed over and over in his mind. Little man. All of a sudden it sounded slightly _different._ Little Man. There was something about that address. _Goodbye, Little Man. _

_Little Man._

Nate blinked, a small gasp escaped his lips as the knot suddenly unravelled in a hurry. The monkey froze mid clap, wires frizzing and snapping before he exploded and a spider's web of thoughts emotions and memories erupted through Nate's brain all at once. All of them connected. All of them rushing through his body, tingling and slotting into place. _Everything_.

"_See you.__"__ James was standing there, only he wasn__'__t James. Those small eyes peered out from under a trilby. His cords and a horrible patterned shirt clashed horribly __–__ everything a different shade of brown. Everything brown._

"_See you, Howard.__"__ Howard turned away and all of a sudden he was struggling to breathe. He couldn__'__t do it. Couldn__'__t say it. How could he say it to Howard? Howard__'__s back was almost gone before he panicked and called out. _

"_Howard!__"__ Howard turned around. _

"_We__'__ll see each other again, yeah?__"_

_  
__"__Goodbye Little Man,__"__ Howard replied softly and turned away, tears prickle in his eyes, running down his cheeks in long black lines as the door shuts behind Howard__'__s brown shoes. _

_That one last address giving him his answer; no, they wont. _

The web fell back into place, each thread connecting.

Nate blinked. Only he wasn't Nate – but Vince. Vince Noir – Rock and Roll Star. Not Nate Warner.

Turning around he opened his mouth to say something, anything, only to find empty space. James was gone. Energy suddenly erupted in his veins from nowhere and the click of his heels on the pavement woke him to the fact that he was running. Every breath tore from him like it wanted nothing more than to stay lodged in his chest forever. Each gasp was painful.

The street was almost empty, save his quarry and three men wandering in the opposite direction to him. He could see him, James –not that far down the street, almost as though he was dawdling in the hope he might change his mind, or he, _Vince,_ would come running after him. Forcing one foot in front of the other, each step taking more conscious thought than it really should, but for once the nagging voice in his head was screaming in jubilation - nothing drowning it out. He _knows!_ He _remembers!_ Vince was halfway up the street after him before he opened his mouth, and a jerked shout escaped. Every single thread had lead to one person, one person who was walking away from him again. Vince wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

How had it all happened?

How.

But it wasn't 'How?' he'd been asking; he'd been trying to remember. Instead he'd been desperately trying to remember one name. Remember _that_ name.

Not 'how'.

Howard.

^(*)^

The street was eerily silent, and James couldn't help but hate the world a little for making him suffer with his thoughts. If it was just a little noisier then just maybe it would at best drown out - at worst dampen - the screaming voice in his head to turn around. To go back. But he couldn't. He was James Fountain, he was a man of action – he danced to no man's tune but his own, yes sir. The thought sounded, if possible, as stupid in his head as it would out loud. But all the same, it didn't stop him from putting one more step in front of the other. Despite it all, he still had the ability to run. As Court once said, of the 36 ways of averting disaster, running away is the best, and the situation was calling for nothing _but_ disaster and James had no qualms at all about running if that meant he got to see another dawn. But still, he'd never _ran_ away from someone before. Especially someone like Nate… Not that he could remember.

"HOWARD!" The piercing shriek echoed down the street after him and the name made James stop still. His entire body froze at the sound of that name echoing in the darkness. Name. _Name. _

"_You need a key, Howard. Something that can unlock it all."_

_  
__"What'__s the point in that? Having the ability to reverse it all?"_

_  
__"It'__s just the rules of the spell, you nugget."_

_  
__"Well there'__s no point, because there__'__s no going back. No sir, it__'__s not like anyone will remember I exist. No one can even remember my _name _now."_

"_You'__re being a ballbag Howard, I haven__'__t got time to play around. If you don__'__t have anything better that__'__ll be the key.__"__  
_

"_What will?"__  
_

"_The next time someone calls you by your real name, you__'__ll remember.__" _

And the charm had broken.

He wasn't James Fountain. He was Howard Moon. Howard TJ Moon.

Jazz maverick.

Howard turned around, flashes of memory running across the back of his eyes.

"_Vince what on earth is that?"__  
_

"_What'__s what?"  
_

"_This sign?"__  
_

"_What sign?"__  
_

"This _sign! The one that says __'__Howard__'__ in magic marker! What__'__s it for?"  
_

"_Oh, that sign. Why didn'__t you say so Howard?"  
_

"_I just did!"__  
_

"_No need to have a strop, Howard. It'__s just a sign."  
_

"_What'__s it for!"  
_

"… _Nothing."_

"_Vince!"_

"Howard."

Black.

"_I love you, Vince."_

_An echoing snigger._

"_Are you laughing at me?"__  
_

"_No,"__  
_

"_You are, you'__re laughing at me. Stop laughing at me, I__'__m trying to tell you I love you and you__'__re laughing at me."  
_

"_You caught me off guard is all."__  
_

"_Forget it,"__  
_

"_No."__  
_

"_It doesn'__t mean anything,"  
_

"_No, I do, I love you. Howard, I _do._"_

Black

"_Howard?"__  
_

"_Yes?"_

"_We'__ll always be together, yeah?"  
_

"_Course we will little man."__  
_

"_Cause I don'__t know what I__'__d do without you, Howard. I know it__'__s stupid and soppy, but it__'__s true."_

"_I'__m not going anywhere, Vince."_

He turned around.

"Vince," he murmured under his breath, watching where the dark haired man was suddenly struggling in the grasp of two dark figures, a large overpowering brute lingering in the background. Fear rose as fast as the bile in his throat at the sight before him.

"VINCE!" he screamed, his heart in his throat as he ran forward, his only intention to reach Vince and tear him away from the others' grasp. Take him and hold him and never let him go. Take them both back to a time when they were just Howard and Vince and didn't need anything or anyone else. But Howard had always been a little slow and while the scene in front of him seemed to evolve in slow motion, he wasn't fast enough.

"VINCE!" Dark hands enveloped Vince's arms, holding him tight. Those blue eyes widened in fear as Vince met Howard's gaze.

'Help me' was screamed silently from Vince's eyes as a red cloth was thrust over his face.

"NO!" Howard was running. Running as fast as he could but he just couldn't run fast enough. His legs weren't long enough, his desperation not strong enough. He was failing.

"VINCE!" the scream tore from his lips as the younger man went limp in his captors arms. Those eyes left Howard's and he couldn't breathe. He hadn't been far enough away from the smaller man just a moment ago and now he was too far. The street stretched like one of Dali's elongated clocks. Melting to twice its size. It was like a treadmill, the wheel spinning so that each step never moved him an inch. The air clogged his lungs. It was hard to breath. He was choking. But Vince was limp and broken and being dragged away from him, large arms surrounding him and carrying him into the darkness. Howard knew he was sobbing. But he couldn't do a thing. He was too far away. He'd abandoned Vince too soon. Abandoned him altogether when it got too hard.

A small wounded howl escaped his lips as Vince disappeared into the shadows. Howard dropped to his knees. The darkness had enveloped him. Sucked him in and now the smaller man was gone.

_Gone._

A sure hand enclosed Howard's shoulder– he tried to push them off.

"No!" he moaned, who ever had a hold on him tightened their grip. _They held Vince fast_ – _he couldn__'__t struggle._ He'd been too slow. They had him. They had Vince.

_A red rag sliding over his face, enveloping his nose and mouth__…._

The hold tightened on Howard again, and he thought he could hear his name – his real name. He couldn't focus. _Vince going limp in the hands of the third large figure… _The three hooded figures disappearing into the darkness, spiriting him away, while he, Howard, ran, forced to watch as he failed to reach him. Too slow, always one step behind…

"Howard," someone said, someone vaguely familiar. Someone that wasn't Court – someone that wasn't Vince – someone that he hadn't known at all as James Fountain.

Someone small and with a lisp.

Someone standing by his side, someone flanked by two large men in feathers. Howard heard the shock in his own voice as he muttered the single name, the name of the one person who had caused so much trouble.

"Naboo?"


	7. The Breakup is in the Breakdown

**_AN: Here's chapter seven where I give you... the plot dump. :) I hope you all enjoy my revelations. _**

**_I feel slightly naked, revealing all this, :P _**

**_Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Lords Barratt and Fielding._**

_**The Captain XXX**_

**Chapter Seven**

**The Make up is in the breakdown**

_You're my toy box  
You're my memories  
When I smell your skin _

_You just make my whole world weep  
I'm at your feet  
I'm at your feet  
_

Mercy

IAMX

"N- Naboo?" Howard stuttered, blinking rapidly, trying to defuse the image in front of him, but Naboo didn't disappear, he simply came into sharper focus.

"Get up, Howard." Howard blinked, _Howard._ The name sounded odd, it was _his_ name. He knew it was his name, but everything that was Howard was still so unfamiliar. Naboo included.

"But, but – '_Michael Naboo's body was found by officers – '_

"You're dead! You're supposed to be dead!"

"You're supposed to be missing, you plumb!" the tiny shaman said, looming over Howard as Howard sat on his knees in the gutter. It was unnerving to say the least.

"But, but _Vince – "_

"We'll get him back, Howard. We gotta move though."

"But they've got him – "

"I know, Howard. Now _move!"_

The two feathered helpers suddenly took Howard by the arms and yanked him to his feet. His mind was dizzy, dragging pieces of information back and forwards across his brain, sorting them out; James kissing Nate, getting in the taxi, driving through Camden; Vince sucking on lollies, trudging through the artic tundra, fire lighting Vince's face as they hung over a long drop into the flames of monkey Hell.

It was a shambles and made Howard nauseous, but he set his feet on the ground and tried to stabilize himself before the two feathered shaman, as he was sure that's what they were supposed to be, began to frog march him after Naboo. The tiny Shaman led him back to the alleyway behind the jazz club where just minutes before, Nate - _Vince_ had been trying to convince him they'd been more than strangers thrown together, once upon a time when the moon talked and fish had manginas. Howard shook his head, nonsense, it was all nonsense – but it was _their_ nonsense.

As they left the main street Howard stared at the flying carpet hovering above the stones for a moment. Last time he had seen one of these it had been in his rear window and Nate had been yelling at him, and now almost a day later they wanted him to get on it voluntarily? Not a chance –

"Howard," Naboo said from where he was sitting on the carpet. Howard blinked, staring at the carpet.

"I thought I was – "

"Don't worry about it, get on." Howard nodded. How many times had they been on this thing? They'd been to Xooberon and back on it, but the anxious fear in his gut had been real. Did that mean James had been real? Howard didn't know, he barely knew where _real_, where _Howard,_ began and where James, where fiction, ended. He was a mess, and he was terrified, and things kept slotting back into place.

"_Howard? Howard? HowardHowardHowardHowardHowardHoward?"_

_  
"What?"_

_  
"You know the black bits in banana's, are they tarantula's eggs?"_

"_Don't ever speak to me again in your life." _

The carpet wavered for a moment as Howard sat down, the two men in feathers settling down behind Naboo.

Howard looked over at the shaman, and for the first time the Shaman looked … smaller. He was missing something.

"Naboo?" Howard asked, the knowledge springing up to him with the force of a blow to the back of his head, a growl, a misspoken name…

"Where's Bollo?"

_  
_Something unmistakeable flashed across Naboo's face and disappeared into stony calm.

"Stupid berk got himself caught, ages back."

Howard didn't notice the fact that the carpet had risen off the ground and was fast heading skywards as he glanced over at Naboo, almost entranced by the taught way he maintained his indifferent calm. They were silent a moment before Naboo spoke.

"I miss him," he said, quietly, almost as if trying not to draw notice to the words before he fell silent again.

Howard nodded, falling into the same silence, his mind a tumult of rushing memories and thoughts, all of them with Vince's face, strangely. It was as if everything before and after Vince was totally irrelevant in his life. He could barely remember the false memories of James over the real ones with Nate. The ones where they were almost Howard and Vince again. The two of them, getting through thick and thin by the skin of their teeth, immune simply through their own inane stupidity, or Vince's inane stupidity.

"_Get ready to cast him into the pit of eternal flames!"_

"_Wait!"_

"_And who are you?"_

_  
"I'm Vince Noir! This is my mate, look there's been a mix up – you can't burn him!"_

_  
"And who's going to stop me?"_

_  
"I am!"_

_  
_The memory rushed back to the forefront of his brain with a sick feeling in Howard's gut. Vince had come to his aid how many times beforewithout hesitation? It was always Vince coming to his rescue, Vince who got them both out of whatever situation they'd managed to get themselves in. But now it was Howard's turn to rescue Vince, and this time, like Vince, he'd go to the ends of the earth, or even to monkey hell, to do it.

"We'll get them back, Naboo," he said with a determination he didn't really feel.

Naboo grunted.

^(*)^

The first thing Vince felt as his eyes fluttered open was the conflicting temperature on either side of his body. It was horribly cold and hard on one side, the other was soft and warm, his head propped up against something large and … hairy, holding him tight. A small sigh escaped his lips and his heavy lids drooped closed again.

When he dragged himself conscious again he became aware of how heavy his body felt; lifting his eyelids was almost too much effort in itself and his throat felt tight and sticky, each ragged breath tore down it, burning. His mouth tasted sharp, some chemical aftertaste that burned and stung. His vision blurred and refused to settle and he clenched his fist into the warm fur and let his senses calm before he tried again.

"Vince?" a deep familiar voice rumbled from beneath him. "Precious Vince?"

Bollo, that was it. Bollo was there. But where was 'there'? The air hitched in his throat and he tried to open his eyes again, everything blurred and wouldn't stay still. His eyes were watering and each moment he held his head up was so tiring. Everything was warped and slow, and something smelt funny. Really _harsh._ Chemicals, that was what they were, his throat was raw and breathing _hurt._ What had happened? The inside of his mouth was horribly dry. His tongue felt thick and sluggish, too much booze, he concluded trying to open heavy eyelids again.

"Vince?" it was slightly more timid now, as if worried something wasn't happening. But he was awake, he could hear Bollo. Bollo, yes, that was it. Bollo; he must've fallen asleep on Bollo.

"Bol-lo – " he croaked; tiny blue eyes crinkled and a large warm hand reached up and pressed lightly against Vince's head, sending it back down against Bollo's warm side. There was a snuffling sound and something wrapped around him, lifting him, hoisting him further into the warmth. Bollo, Bollo must be holding him. Straining with the effort, he lifted his arms, and tried to wrap them around the gorilla. He didn't know what he'd managed to do, he couldn't see, his eyes just wouldn't open all the way, but it was some semblance of a hug.

"Precious Vince sleep again. Bollo keep watch," the gorilla ordered and despite himself, Vince obeyed; he couldn't keep his eyes open, they were too heavy and everything _hurt_. He couldn't remember why, maybe Howard would know. He'd ask Howard later.

^(*)^

The most unnerving thing Howard found about the otherwise silent carpet ride was their destination. Of all the places he wasn't keen on going back to, the Velvet Onion was high on the list.

The lights were still off as the carpet descended slowly and came to a rest outside the dilapidated club. Naboo's face was impassive, but the Shaman met Howard's eyes when he looked over. The silence that had taken over the journey maintained itself though, heavy and harrowing as Howard followed the small Shaman off the carpet and into the club.

The door shrieked as Naboo opened it and disappeared. Howard followed tentatively, listening to the scrapes and voices from within. The first thing he noticed was that Fossil's voice was missing and even better the unstable man was nowhere to be seen as he surveyed the club in its dark blue light.

Instead of the empty dance floor that had made everything echo, Howard looked around at where the Shaman Council had taken up residence, setting up two large tables; one for the Board, who were sitting in a row talking quietly amongst themselves, and another slightly larger table was set up off centre, where a number of decrepit looking Shaman were bustling around, some of them waving their arms and frowning as they babbled along.

"This is where the Shaman Council's set up, for now." Naboo said, nodding to the obvious sight before them.

"I thought they were all into the forest thing," Howard murmured, trying to fit unsure names to obscure faces. Was Saboo the one with the grey hair or the feathers?

"Yeah, well it's not really working out for this type of mission."

"What type of mission?"

"End of the world, Howard. What else do you think it is?" Naboo frowned.

"Why do Vince and I have to get involved in something as ridiculous as this?" Howard groaned, feeling panic swirl in the pit of his stomach.

"Because you're jerkoffs. That's why," Naboo said it with what was surely supposed to be disdain, though Howard was sure for a moment (though convinced himself sorely mistaken) that it was more like affection.

"Thanks, Naboo."

The Shaman shrugged.

Howard glanced around, shoulders hunched; it just didn't feel right. It was too quiet, and the memory of what happened when they were here last was still fresh.

"Where's Fossil?"

"He was here when we arrived, he's locked in one of the changerooms out back. For his own protection really. He's completely lost it." Naboo didn't seem too fussed about the fact Fossil was locked in a room at the back of the club, walking off and leaving Howard standing somewhat awkwardly by the edge of the stairs. There were people everywhere, all of them wearing the oddest clothes in which Howard quickly found the irony, considering the outfits Vince and the other usual visitors to the club wore daily. But regardless of Vince's penchant for cat suits and sequins, it was the oddest thing to see so many men walking around in robes and feathers, turbans and _rolls_ of silk, green skin, blue skin, white skin and balding, long hair, no hair, curled hair, straight – it was a melee and Howard gulped as the knowledge occurred to him that any one of them could turn him into a toad or something, as stupid as that seemed. After all, just because Naboo had never threatened that didn't mean Shaman couldn't.

Sidling back in the shadows, away from the bumbling crowd, Howard felt his skin tingle with a strange buzzing. It buzzed again, his skin itching; he rubbed at his arm, where it shuddered and buzzed, making him fidget and itch, scratching at the skin through his jacket, much like Vince around Jazz. Perhaps he was allergic to Shaman magic he thought, scratching again, the itching tingling the skin on his stomach and that's when he felt it. He felt his cheeks redden as he looked around sheepishly, hoping no one had noticed him writhing and itching like a loon as he pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket.

Embarrassed he glanced at the screen before a sinking feeling filled the hollow well he was sure was his stomach. He stared at the name for a moment like it was a venomous snake before guilt got the better of him, after all it was rude to ignore a phone call, and he answered.

"Where the hell are you, James? I've been looking for you! Where's Nate? Christ, James. You pair left me back at the bar!" a small squeak escaped his lips as Court's voice screamed out the speaker, not even giving him the chance to speak.

"James!" Howard cleared his throat. It was Court; Court was on the phone, talking to James. But he wasn't James anymore. Howard frowned; did James even _exist_ anymore? Did he exist before? Howard swallowed and pressed the phone to his ear. The sound of Court's voice was doing nothing to calm the panic swirling around in his stomach. He wasn't good with women, never had been – but she was expecting him to be something he wasn't. Not only _something_ he wasn't, _someone_.

"Hey, Court."

"James, have you been listening? Did you even remember I was there?"

"Sorry, Court, something's happened."

She shut up immediately.

"What? What is it?"

"N-Nate, he's err, missing."

"Missing? James – what did you do? Where are you? I'll come help – "

"No," Howard cut her off, his voice trembling. "I've … there's people helping already. His friends – we'll, I'll be fine."

"You sure, James? I'll be right there –"

"No, I'm okay. I'll talk to you later."

"Alright, stay safe, James."

"- Yeah." He slid the phone closed.

"What do I tell her, Naboo?" he asked, softly, glancing at the shaman who had appeared at Howard's side during the brief conversation.

"That my whole life, _James'_ whole life wasn't real?"

"Dunno, Howard. That's up to you, right now we've got more to worry about than that."

"What do you think they'll do to him?"

"Dunno, Howard. Don't even know who they are, yet."

"You don't know? What have you been doing for six months?"

"Running, hiding, smoking."

"Oh." He really shouldn't have expected anything less.

"Do I need to stay out here?"

"You shouldn't leave, Howard."

"I'm not, I just - want to go somewhere. Here in the club."

Naboo looked at him for a moment, a lot going on behind the blank eyes, but he nodded and Howard nodded back, not sure why, he just needed something to do with himself, needed some movement to remind him that his body still worked, even though there seemed this hollow where something should have been. Something important.

No one paid him any mind as he wove through the pillars away from the main floor, heading for the one room he vaguely remembered: a tiny dressing room with music posters on the wall and a paper sign almost permanently attached to the door.

Vince Noir.

Right now he needed Vince, and Vince needed him.

It was time he needed to be a Man of Action, but before then, he needed to just be with Vince, any way he could. Vince's old dressing room would have to do, he thought pausing for a moment to stare at the first closed door where two shamen were standing guard. He didn't stay long, the way Fossil had spoken to them before, the way he'd leered at Vince in particular was something that left him uncomfortable to say the least.

"I'm not Vince – "

He hurried past.

Vince's change room was just the way _Howard_ remembered it. Red walls and music posters all around, an assortment of coloured accessories scattered around the room, feather boas and boots, belts and necklaces. The vanity with its light bulbs around the mirror like some celebrity, the table almost lost under the cans of hairspray and serum and empty packets of Haribo. The place was almost a shrine, after all, it had been six months and it was painfully clear no one else had used the room in all that time.

Howard sank down into the couch and rested his head in his hands. It was almost painfully quiet, even the sounds coming from the dance floor where the Shaman were 'working' was absent.

"_HOWARD!"_

A sob caught in his throat as the sound of Vince screaming his name bounced around the walls of his mind. How could he have not seen it sooner? Just _seeing_ him should have been enough to bring everything that was _Howard_ back, but Naboo's words once again echoed up through the dark, "_It needs a key, Howard. That's just the way the thing works." _And his key had been his _name._ What had Vince's been? What had Vince used to be his key? A key that had been somewhat weaker than Howard's, or had Vince simply wanted to be _Vince _more than Howard wanted to be Howard? Of course he had. Vince had always been happy in who he was. But, the inkling of it settled on the tip of Howard's tongue, had Vince wanted to be Vince because he had Howard?

After all, Nate Warner had been a lonely soul. A wanderer, _"I went up to Leeds, just went AWOL, you know? Didn't know why, just did." _Vince was anything but a wanderer, he was a homebody, making where he was where he was going to stay forever. And Howard had been a part of that. But Howard had never been content at home, content with Vince, and yet Vince had always been the one with so many prospects but he had never left Howard. Even as Nate he'd gone wandering, searching out Howard, Howard had come from Leeds, and so Nate had gone to Leeds. Vince had been Nate, and Nate had been lonely. Howard had been James, and James had been with people who liked him, but hadn't he had that before? The air was cold on his bare skin as he pulled his sleeve up. He stared at it, the bare strip of flesh he knew he could twist and burn and punish himself with; he stared at the impending pain that a combination of instinct and habit had told him to do. What had they come to? When had everything become so twisted?

Howard groaned and brought his hands up to his eyes, pressing against the eyelids, hiding everything from view.

"_Vince?" the younger man was rummaging through his CD's, not stacking them or sorting what to take with him, just … rummaging. Something to do with his hands. He didn't turn around when Howard spoke._

_  
"What, Howard?"_

_  
"I, err - I have to go –" Howard said, but Vince didn't even turn around. _

_  
"I know, Howard. Naboo told us, I was there. I'm trying to pack, honest."_

_  
"No, Vince, I'm going. Alone. We have to split up." Vince set down the CD he was holding, it clicked as it met the other plastic. They were both silent for a moment, and then slowly Vince turned around. _

_  
"Why?" Vince finally said, "We've always been together, Howard." Vince grew more earnest as he spoke. "Why are we splitting up now?"_

"_Naboo, said -" Howard stopped, taking a breath and resting a hand on Vince's sparkling shoulder. "We can't."_

_  
"Why not? Howard, why?"_

_  
"I'm sorry, Vince."_

"There you are, you ballbag," Naboo said, folding his arms in the doorway.

"Come on, the Board's ready, we have to figure something out to get Vince back."

"This was his dressing room, you know? Every time he played here," Howard murmured, not looking up at Naboo as he spoke.

"I remember that, funny – I can't remember all the Jazz LP's I've collected, but I know Vince never once used a different changing room than this one. I _know_ I've had six of the rarest LP's in existence, I know Vince broke one, and Bollo broke two back at the Zoo." A small pained expression flashed across Naboo's face but was gone before Howard registered it had been there at all.

"But I don't remember what they were, I don't remember a lot of things; when I moved down from Leeds, where I went to school, why I left school to go to the zoo. I can't remember that, but I remember Vince doesn't like the purple fruitloops, he thinks they're black. Cereal's not mean to be black. He only drinks coffee from that little coffeehouse a block away from the shop, mocha, four sugars, he gets two on Wednesdays, keeps the energy up for the rest of the week. I don't remember the date of my parents wedding anniversary but I know when he drinks coffee, Naboo."

"Come on Howard," Naboo said, almost sadly. Howard sighed and followed the tiny Shaman back onto the dance floor.

The Board hadn't moved and were still conversing between themselves. The other Shaman were still bustling around their table talking animatedly, though Howard couldn't hear a word they were saying.

"So this is him, Naboo?" the Head Shaman said, voice booming as he sat up straight and addressed Naboo; Howard stood awkwardly to the left of his once-landlord. Howard looked the tall Shaman in front of him up and down. He was a dominating figure, yes sir.

"Yeah," Naboo said.

"Then let us begin. You have been summoned before this Board, Harold –"

"It's Howard."

The Shaman looked affronted at being interrupted and then seemed confused, as though he'd lost where he was going. Howard watched him, trying to fit a name to the face. He had a moustache; at the very least the man knew a sensible man's look, however the feathers weren't helping that any further. His moustache was the only thing of distinction, defining his face. Dennis. That was it; the name came tearing back with the image of Vince in a kaftan, a silver headband and the cool night air. Howard blinked away the image as the darker man to Dennis' left muttered something and the pink _thing_ to that man's left sniggered.

"Whatever." The darker man sneered, looking up and meeting Howard's gaze. Howard looked away, feeling almost guilty, about what he wasn't sure.

"You have been summoned before this Board, for a matter of grave urgency," Dennis boomed, finally getting back what he'd temporarily lost. "This Board should have been informed immediately, however, Naboo, you did not. You broke several Shamanic laws."

"He should be punished!" the pink tentacled thing shrieked.

"Can it Harrison," the head Shaman scowled.

"We shall save punishment for a later date. We are in a grave position at the present time, Naboo. You have put us all in a great state of peril. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Got any weed?" Naboo smirked; Howard turned his head, too sharply as his neck jarred, and stared aghast at Naboo.

"What? You can't get high now! We have to get Vince back! We have to get him back – you have to get Bollo back! And I don't know what is all this about! " He stopped, feeling everyone's eyes on him. The dance floor was completely silent.

"You don't remember?" Dennis asked, leaning forward.

"I remember, yes sir. My mind is like a –" he stopped; listening to himself ramble on even to his own ears it just sounded ridiculous. Was this how he used to be? Of course it was; with the name so much of the old Howard had come back, but then thinking about it, old mannerisms had been leaking through the more he and Vince maintained contact as Nate and James. But there was a definite line between old mannerisms leaking through and his itching fingers the closer he got to the table and pile of unsorted paper. He was back to being Howard Moon, and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. He sighed.

"I don't understand," he finished softly, hoping they did. Hoping that they could see he didn't remember. He remembered some, little insignificant pieces, snippets of dialogue, stories that he knew were memories lacking certain details, but there were several very distinct images in his head, all of them faces – all of them Vince. He did remember some of who he was, of what had gone on before he remembered none of it, but they were the most vague; it was funny how the important things in his life never came into focus until after they were required.

"Naboo – you informed us he had his memory back."

"He does, sort of." Naboo frowned, kicking Howard's leg as though the Northerner had let him down somewhat.

"Well, if he knows nothing of this situation we have no reason to involve him."

"We have every reason to involve him, Saboo, he knows more than we do – it is simply locked away in his befuddled mind."

"We're doomed."

"Hey!"

"Quiet! After all, this human as I said, knows more of the situation at hand than we. We must help to extract this information from the recesses of his mind. Naboo, explain to him, and again to this Board, what has happened. But I must remind you, we have not much time and the background to this story is long and complex, involving an intricate series of legends and lore associated with Shaman, things only know by Shaman. It's a delicate process, a powerful story - "

"I'll keep it short, Howard," Naboo said, interrupting Dennis.

"I still don't see why we must divulge such information to this plum, Dennis." Saboo scowled.

"They are Shamanistic secrets, passed only from Shaman to Shaman!" Tony Harrison declared to no one in particular.

"It is necessary for him to understand; after all, he has been involved in this situation long before us. He must understand what it all means, and he must help us reclaim what is ours. Naboo – since you were the one to involve him before involving this Board, you shall have the honour of explaining."

Naboo nodded, Howard simply looked nonplussed, looking between Dennis and Naboo, Saboo and Tony Harrison, who continued to exclaim everything was an outrage, and that if he had been alerted to its location before none of this would have happened. Howard closed his mouth, which had been hanging open. He had absolutely no idea what they were all on about.

"It's a bit of a story, Howard," Naboo said, and Howard finally turned his attention back to the tiny Shaman.

"But I've told you some of this before, so it might come back to you a bit as I go along. Some bits I never told you, and some bits you know more than I do."

"I don't care. Just tell me." Naboo nodded and complied. It was easy really – telling people what to do, Howard mused. But it felt strange in this, well, _mindset_ to have people obey him.

"Right, basically it's my mate Barry's fault," Naboo started, and Saboo rolled his eyes, the action loud enough for everyone to hear his disdain.

"About seven and half months ago, a month before we split up, I got a phone call from Barry. Barry and me go way back, he used to come on tour with me Rudi and Spider, he could drink that much tequila he used to put us to shame. Spider used to spike it with anythin', try and catch him out, never could. Haven't seen him since you tried to procreate with those yetis. Anyway, Barry told me he'd found something; something that he wasn't quite sure was real. Reckoned he was high, but he wasn't. He didn't say what, but he didn't talk much, kept things small; except booze, that was the only thing he did large. Couple of weeks later Harrison called, said Barry was dead. No one said anything about what Barry'd found, still it worried me a bit. Week later I got a package – from Barry. He'd sent me what he'd found, ballbag. A stone. Scared me out of my turban. See, there's this old folktale back on Xooberon –"

"It is not a simple folktale, Naboo – it is a powerful legend, with roots deep in the history of our planet and race." Naboo blinked at Dennis and when he turned his gaze back to Howard there was a faint gleam of annoyance in his eyes. It was strange, the look in Naboo's eyes, there was a sharpness to them that Howard found alien. It was a strange gleam, one that he realised with a sharp jolt that said firmly that for the first time since he'd met the Shaman, Naboo _wasn't_ stoned.

"It's a _story_ we tell the new kids, Howard. When we're being trained, about this stone, this legendary rock that has the power to bestow or revoke the powers of a Shaman, the Namahs Stone."

"_Namahs Stone? What sort of name is that?" _a voice rippled across the back of Howard's mind in Vince's cockney slang.

_  
_"It's 'shaman', backwards."

"Oh." Howard blushed a little, unaware he'd thought aloud.

"It is a powerful magical object, not a 'stupid rock', Naboo." Dennis frowned, taking the opportunity in the quiet to make his presence known once again to the Board. "It is a dangerous –"

"Oh I do like a good story, let the story continue!" Harrison shrieked, interrupting, Dennis fell silent with a frown.

"You told Naboo to explain, Dennis. So stop interrupting," Saboo said with a smirk.

"I find it strange, Saboo," Dennis said, rising in his chair once again, tall and proud and feathers quivering. "That since I have reinstated you with your old partner, Kirk, you have been agreeing with Tony Harrison - "

"And what does _that_ mean?"

"It means, Saboo, that perhaps I should reconsider, for fear of replicating past embarrassing events -"

"That is not of anyone's concern, Dennis. We all have things we are not proud of, Methuselah would surely have something to say about _that."_

Dennis turned in his seat and the look in his eyes sent Howard reeling. They had completely forgotten.

"Hey!" he wasn't sure whose voice it was for a moment, the fact it was himself who was speaking took a moment to register.

"Stop it! I don't care – about your wife, or your partner or any of it! I care about _my_ partner! About Vince! So just _shut up!_" Howard blinked, staring at the dumbfounded Board, all of them silent in the wake of his outburst.

"I mean, we could – I, err. I mean, Naboo?" He turned to his friend searching for help, but the odd expression on Naboo's face was another change in the Shaman Howard found disconcerting. Naboo didn't do expressions. And he certainly didn't do _compassion._

"I'll keep going, shall I?" Naboo asked, with an air as if he didn't need to ask.

Dennis nodded stiffly.

"Everyone always told it like a story," Naboo started, "but it's real as my turban, and its dangerous - for any Shaman. But powerful too. You'd be invincible if you had it – an' someone killed Barry for it already. Back then I wasn't up for being second. So I was gonna run, 'cept you two would only wind up dead cause you're muppets like that. Even if I left – it wouldn't matter. No one knows any pity once they're after the stone. They'll do anything to get it.

"So I warned you about it and helped you escape – Cause I was running I didn't want you pair blabbing off where I was so I wiped your memories clean, gave you new lives. Good thing too, day after I sent you pair off they ransacked the shop. They'll do anything to get it; the hunt for this rock is legendary, it's the most dangerous thing on Xooberon, and it being here on this planet, Earth is just one giant hunting ground."

"Why didn't you consult the Board?" Howard asked tentatively. Saboo rose in his chair and smiled.

"Yes, Naboo. Why didn't you inform this Board?"

"I wasn't sure if we could trust 'em. That's why I never told anyone about it. You're always going on about the Crunch, didn't know if you could actually handle it. I just made us all disappear."

"The Crunch?" Saboo scowled. "You and your caterpillar friend know nothing –"

"Here we go," Dennis said, with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

"Calm! Everyone," he tried to say over Saboo.

"Everyone knows that those who can't do – teach!" Naboo smirked. Saboo's face went stony and his feathered collar bristled.

"Saboo, calm yourself!" Dennis commanded, laying a hand on Saboo's arm. "And you made an unwise decision, Naboo, one that has deeply affected this Board, however it cannot be changed. Continue -"

"Like I said, they ransacked the shop next day, I'd already set you up with one of Pete's alias', Howard –"

"One of _Pete's_? Is _that_ why I had an outstanding debt?"

"Err, yeah." Naboo had the decency to look a little ashamed.

"I don't remember why we picked Vince's name. Anyway, I send you pair off and then me and Bollo ran off to Majorca for a while and then disappeared. Never told anyone, not even the Board. S'far as I know they've been looking for me for the past six months," he said, motioning to the Board; Dennis looked guilty for a second and shifted in his seat, " but they weren't the only ones. Someone else knows the Stone's here on Earth, some eejit's gone and blabbed, and this other lot were looking for us too - and when they couldn't find me – they went after you two. This lot –" he motioned again to the Board, Saboo scowled even deeper, "they reckoned I'd show me head eventually, other lot weren't so sure, and they didn't know what I'd done to hide you. So when they couldn't find me, they faked my death and waited for you to show up. Even with the memory charm in place you still did – both of you. It was a bleeding nightmare. You're a right pair of ballbags. But you've managed to keep the stone safe, so I suppose that's something."

Howard looked up from where he'd been staring at his boots during Naboo's speech, listening to small things sounding familiar and slotting into place as they were explained.

"_We 'ave to go?"_

"_Go where? Holiday? We ain't going back to the woods are we?" Vince whined, looking up at Naboo from the couch and a copy of cheekbone._

"_No, you plumb. We gotta go. Old friend of mine's landed me in a right mess."  
_

"_Then sort him out! Turn him into a frog or sommat."_

_  
"It's not that simple, and I'm not a magician Vince, I' m a shaman, that's a whole different thing. Y'need special training for that. Ten years on Yureth, whole other planet and they're right ballbags."_

_  
"Sounds all the same t'me," Vince mumbled. _

"_What do you mean we have got to go, Naboo? What do me an Vince have to do with this?"_

"_You pair have to go too, else you're gonna get killed."_

_  
"As if, Naboo, we're not gonna get killed! Howard ain't got us in any trouble yet! That's the way stuff works!"  
_

"_Nothing's working the way it should right now you nonce! Just hurry up and pack."_

_  
_Naboo's words filtered through the vague memory.

_You have managed to keep the stone safe, so I suppose that's something…_

"Whoa there Nelly; _we _managed to keep the stone safe? We? As in me and Vince?"

"Yeah, I might have given you and Vince the stone to keep a hold of." All eyes turned to fix on Howard. Howard felt his face reddening.

"Us?"

"Much rather you pair get killed than me, amount of rubbish you've got me into over the years. You owe me a lot."

"Didn't know we had an account to pay!"

"So you're saying, Naboo, that you gave the most powerful object in this solar system to two shopkeepers to take care of?" Dennis asked, an odd expression on his face Howard couldn't place.

"Yeah,"

"I'm very disappointed in you, Naboo."

"You wouldn't have done any better, you'd have put it in the safe, and Methusela'd get it in the divorce settlement." Naboo scowled, Dennis sat up straight.

"She knows she gets nothing out of my sacred cabinet."

"She gets everything out of your sacred cabinet, how do you think she's still that attractive at four hundred and six?"

"She works out six days a week,"

"No she's not, she's riding the pool boy."

"Riding the pool boy? I'll teach that jockey how to ride my wife!"

"While she watches?" sniggered Saboo, Dennis blushed.

"Enough! Naboo, due to your actions we now have lost the Namahs Stone. I'm guessing this Vince has it?"

"He's got a bit, yeah."

"Half?" Howard asked, looking between Dennis who was still vaguely red and Naboo, who was still indifferent and bored.

"It's got a few pieces, you need all of them to make it work. I gave you and Vince one each."

"Me?" Howard stared at the tiny Shaman incredulously. Naboo never trusted him with anything. True the shop used to be in his care, but Naboo never really trusted him with it, there was always hesitation before Naboo gave over the keys, always quips about his selling skills, teasing and belittling where there were only complements for Vince's simple attentions. Why on earth had Naboo given _him_ half of something that had the power to destroy the world? More to the point why would he give _both_ of them something that dangerous?

"Yeah, Vince has the main bit, I gave you the bottom half. S'like a stand or something. Vince put the rock in a necklace." Howard's eyes glazed, remembering how Nate's fingers would constantly toy with the pendant around his neck. Not that Howard knew what the necklace looked like, he'd usually been too engrossed with how Vince's clothes hugged his frame, his shoulders, his hips and buttocks where Howard could see them, _that_ caught Howard's eye more than enough to pay any attention to what the necklace looked like. The stand however, that he vaguely remembered taking. So vaguely it was like catching smoke, wispy and fragile and impossible to hold.

"_You gotta keep this safe, Howard. It's crucial."_

_  
"Alright, you can trust me Naboo, I'm a man of action – no one'll get their hands on this baby!"_

"_Yeah - Just don't lose it."_

"He –" Howard croaked, "Vince. He wears this pendant around his neck, he plays with it. Would that be it?"

"Yeah. I told him what I told you, don't bloody lose it."

"He didn't. He still has it."

"Good. So where did you keep yours, you ballbag?"

Howard swallowed, thinking back; everyone was watching him, he could feel their eyes on him. He shifted nervously. He was always anxious under scrutiny, the only person he ever felt safe having look at him was Vince; Vince was calming, despite his hyper nature; he was soothing beyond his smiles and quips and sneers. He was life, all sugar and light, he was trouble and solace, comfort and testing, trusting and stupid. He was Vince. Howard smiled and the thought came to him.

"It's in the taxi. In the glove box," he said aloud, hearing Vince's voice from Nate's mouth as he took it out, searching for loose change. It had been right there in the taxi, both pieces of the puzzle. Howard frowned.

"Well that's where I put all my possibly world destructive items," Saboo sneered.

"Your carpet doesn't have a glove box, you nonce. It doesn't even have air conditioning! You, my friend, need an upgrade," Tony Harrison wailed. Saboo looked down at him for a moment with an undecipherable look on his face.

"Shut it," he scowled, the rest of his response lost in a small chorus of shouting. Everyone turned to look, Kirk rising from his chair and following Naboo towards the noise, the rest of the board following a little less eager.

"What is it?" Howard asked, chasing after. Naboo didn't speak until they were standing outside the open door, though, pushing aside the stunned shaman who was supposed to be on guard.

"It's Fossil, he's gone," Naboo murmured, looking between the broken changeroom door to the emergency exit door slightly ajar.

"Fossil's gone?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"This means nothing, Naboo – there are more important matters to discuss." Dennis said, offhand, turning around to go back to his table and the wailing Harrison who hadn't been moved.

"He shouldn't have been let out, he might've known something."

"That fool could not have told you which way was up." Saboo sneered.

'"He knew enough that he could get out through the emergency exit."

"Well they work." Howard said, trying to smile, but it just felt wrong. No one else had felt that same adrenaline rushing through that same emergency door Kirk was standing by as he had, as _they_ had. No one had been with Vince so long that being without him felt this wrong. No one could understand – except maybe the small shaman by his side, the shaman who was twice as small without his bumbling familiar.

"Well there is nothing to do now – Naboo, regardless of what knowledge that fool possesses, we have enough fool in this Northerner here to last us long enough. Come – there is still much to discuss"

_And how much time to do it in? _Howard couldn't help but think. _How long did Vince have?_

^(*)^

When Vince woke again, dragging himself conscious was a little easier. His throat still blazed, but everything was less … heavy.

"Bollo?"

"Precious Vince," the gorilla sound relieved. Vince sighed, feeling tears on his lashes.

"Oh, Bollo!" he murmured as things started rushing around in his head, arranging themselves quickly; his brain room in a flurry of activity it had never experienced before. Not even when Howard had kissed him.

_When James had kissed Nate._

With that thought he came crashing back down to earth really quickly and really bloody hard. The small smile slipped from his face. He remembered, not everything, but he knew why he was here. He was here because of Naboo.

"Bollo – _Naboo!"_ the gorilla's eyes crinkled sadly, losing their sparkle in the wake of Vince waking up.

"Little Naboo not here."

"Then where is he?"

"Bollo not know. Bollo been here many weeks, not seen Naboo for ages."

"Why?"

"Bollo kept Naboo back, Bollo bad for Naboo, so Bollo let himself get caught, let little Naboo escape."

Vince ducked his head and hid himself in his fringe, or what was left of it, and Bollo's fur. The gorilla patted Vince's head affectionately.

"I'm sorry Bollo," he murmured, stroking the gorilla's fur for a moment.

"Howard? What about him?" he croaked finally; he could remember seeing Howard run towards him, but nothing else, everything went blank.

"Bollo not heard about Harold."

"His name is Howard, Bollo."

"Bollo know."

"Then say it, yeah."

"Howard special to precious Vince. Precious Vince special to Bollo. Bollo will try."

"Cheers." The word came easily, but it didn't sound right. The urge to smile and be happy had returned, but he was so unused to it, it felt _odd._ He didn't even know if there was any reason for it anymore. After all, even James had turned his back on Nate, Howard had certainly done the same thing to Vince, _and not for the first time,_ something whispered nastily. Vince swallowed painfully.

"Where are we, Bollo?"

"Bollo not know. All Bollo know is they after Stone, Bollo not know what Naboo done with it. Bollo tell them that. Perhaps they ask Precious Vince same thing." The words punctured something still covered and hidden in Vince's mind, his cells still searching for the videotape to explain in picture form, but he felt it connect somewhere. His hand instinctively snuck up to hold onto the pendant around his neck.

"Oh," Vince said, not looking the Gorilla.

"_It's a powerful Shaman object, Vince. You have to keep it safe."_

"It will be okay, Naboo will not leave Precious Vince here. Howard ballbag, but he not leave you either. You will see," the primate said, trying to be soothing. Vince smiled, albeit weakly.

"Yeah, I know Bollo," he murmured, nuzzling into his friend's warm fur again.

Vince couldn't remember much, but he knew that whoever had caught him didn't know that he had part of what they were looking for. If they did they certainly would have taken it off him, and he was pretty sure that once they did that there was no use for him what so ever, and he'd be disposed of. The police really would find the body of Vincent Noir, previously of the Nabootique, Dalston.

He shuddered, sighing as Bollo ran a hand through his hair, soothing him towards sleep. As worried as he was, as wired as he knew he should be, his body still hurt and the primate's simple gesture soothed him into sleep faster than Howard reading Tolstoy.

^(*)^

"Get that stupid orang-utan out of there!" a deep voice boomed, jerking Vince awake. He froze, one hand unconsciously tightening on Bollo's fur as he blinked away the sleep in his eyes, trying to grasp the world in focus. Bollo tightened his hold around Vince, settling a pounding fear in Vince's chest with that small action.

"What's happening?" he whispered.

"I said get him out of there! Who put them both in there anyway! – Boon, you fool!" someone yelped as though kicked, but Vince wasn't paying much attention to what was happening beyond the bars of his cell. A pair in black masks, sort of like the ninjas who delivered his Cheekbone once upon a time, were opening the door and advancing on him and Bollo. Vince heard Bollo emit a low grumbling growl, but the pair didn't heed his choked warning, as Bollo began to cough, caught in an asthma attack.

"No –" Vince croaked. He was still too drowsy and weak and it didn't take all that much for them to pry him out of Bollo's grasp. They were two girls, Vince realised when he saw the flash of blonde beneath the balaclava, and shapely curves. The other ninja yelled something at Bollo, it was harsh and a scary sound. Something silver lashed out and Bollo yelped as the stick hit him. The sound ricocheted off the walls and straight into Vince. It woke in him something that still felt groggy and weak, but nothing made Bollo sound like that. Nothing. He pushed at the hands trying to hold him, the feeling building.

"No!" his voice sounded broken as it echoed, but it didn't matter. The girls' hands were tough and held on, despite how he thrashed. The silver something flashed out and hit him this time, it connected and a flaring pain rushed down his side. The second girl's eyes gleamed almost madly in the darkness.

"Hurry up you pair! I'm a busy man!" the voice called, deep and almost hypnotic. It had been years since Vince had heard that voice, but it still resonated deep within him. It was a voice he could never forget.

Another flash of silver and Bollo yelped again, and Vince lost the feeling of warm fur on bare skin completely, the cold rushing in on him from all sides.

"No!" he moaned and the silver thing hit him again.

"Enough, enough. Dump him there," the voice said, and Vince felt rushing air as the girl dropped him before he hit cold hard stone, pushing the breath from him. The world spun and he couldn't tell which way they were taking Bollo. He could barely tell which way was up, everything was swirling. He only just resisted the urge to be sick, his stomach heaving. He waited, letting everything settle before he tried again. But as he struggled to push himself up his chest tightened and he broke off, coughing.

When he stopped he could hear tough, well-made boots echoing on the stone, the squeak of leather as they stretched with their owner's movement.

Vince coughed again, pushing himself defiantly onto his knees. A second person entered, the sound of their shoes clicking echoing in the darkness. A shuddering breath escaped Vince's lips. He wanted to cry out, for Bollo, for _Howard_ but he could barely breathe and he couldn't give them the pleasure of mewling or whining or _crying_.

The second lot of boots, the clicking ones, stopped.

"I want you to stand guard, make sure he doesn't exert himself. I'll be back later. I have to see a German about a bear, and a Shaman about an amulet." The first voice boomed, the second person didn't say anything before the two sets of boots turned and left, the first squeaking out the door and gone, the second just to the doorway, fully hidden in the shadows. Vince waited, baited breath in the darkness, listening, the only sound that came was the shriek of the door being slammed closed and the darkness rushed in, thick and unyielding. This time, alone in the dark, a small whimper escaped Vince's lips. He was alone, and he _felt _it.

He dragged himself towards the wall, his whole body screaming at him; it hurt to breathe, hurt to _think_. He flopped against the stone, a small wheezing chuckle escaping.

"_You just don't _think_ do you? Before you do anything. You just _do._ It drives me nuts, Vince." _

Howard's voice rippled up through the darkness.

Propping himself up against the firm, chilled stone, he let the cold wash through him. It was the only thing holding him up. He was disorientated, so bloody confused. Everything seemed to be trying to find its place; in his mind, in here – wherever here was -- who was involved, what this all was. It all had a place, and that place was trying to explain itself to him any way it could. But he was so tired, his body ached, his mind echoed – he felt like screaming only he didn't have the energy. Even the monkey, the clapping bloody toy that had driven him near insanity as Nate was welcome in comparison to this confusion; what was Nate, what was Vince and what was universal. It was too much. The cold rushed through him, in a way it seemed to feed the desolation pooling in the pit of his stomach, and mixed in he could feel anger, hurt, rejection. His memory was fuzzy, but he knew that those feelings had the _right_ to be there. He knew that something _wasn't_ right. Howard had turned his back on him and walked away. Howard had left him. But that had been as James, right? Vince let his head fall against the rock, and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure. He didn't know. Everything was a mixture, a horrible mess of colour and shape and fabric – there was no style, no semblance of order; it was just a shambles; a fashion nightmare of dreams and memories, and memories in dreams. But Howard had walked away from him. Howard had _turned his back_ on him. Howard had said goodbye.

But you only said goodbye when you meant it, right?

A small cry escaped his lips. Bollo's warmth had completely evaporated. The room was hollow and echoing and icy. He leant further, closer into the wall, closer into the cold. If he was cold then maybe he couldn't feel.

^(*)^

It was sunny outside, just past midday or there about, but the sudden sunshine was doing nothing for Howard's nerves. Still jumpy from the slam of the door as Fossil escaped, still nervous about the fact Fossil was let loose on London, anxious that Vince was captured and worries that every second they wasted was putting him in more danger, the sheer panic stirring in his stomach was doing nothing to ease anything.

"It's not here!" he flustered, scrambling through the junk in his car. It wasn't in the glove box, it wasn't under the seats; it wasn't anywhere. It was gone.

"What do you mean it's not?"

"I mean it's gone! I know it was here. I saw it – Nate fou- I mean Vince found it, we were looking for change for the payphone! It was here!"

"You sure you checked everywhere?"

"I'm sure!" Howard yelled back at the Shaman. He could hear Naboo mumbling at him outside the car. He determinedly rifled through the glove box again, nothing. It was full of junk, missing the one thing they needed. Typical.

"Come on, we'll tell Dennis. We'll figure something out."

"But if it's not here then whoever has Vince probably has my part too, right?"

"Probably. That's usually how this sort of thing goes."

"But if they have both parts, what's gonna happen, Naboo?"

"They ain't got all the parts, Howard. There's a third bit. I've got it. So they can't do much, we just gotta find the rest of it. Get Vince an' Bollo back."

Howard blinked at the small Shaman as he turned his back and made back for the club, leaving Howard half in, half out of the taxi, standing in the sunshine. Since their carpet ride Bollo hadn't been mentioned, even though his absence was very obvious. It was really quite shocking to Howard how much Naboo was missing his bumbling familiar. Even his brief mentions had shown Howard how much the indifferent little Shaman cared. Shaking himself, Howard ran after Naboo, out of the lunchtime sun and back into the club. It had shocked him how late it was – the night coming and going without his notice while they were locked away within the Velvet Onion. He'd spent far too much time inside the seedy club than he thought he ever would, and that was considering how much time Vince spent there.

He caught up with Naboo over at the Board's table fast enough to hear Naboo's explanation.

"He's gone an' lost it."

"Lost it?"

"This is –"

"Oh no," Dennis mumbled as Harrison took a breath.

"AN OUTRAGE."

"We are doomed. I knew this would happen, from the moment Naboo was involved."

"You really don't like me, do you?" Naboo frowned.

"No." Saboo scowled.

"We must hurry, Dennis, if we are to stop this potential apocalypse."

"There is a full moon tonight, that is when the awakening of the stone would be most potent. We have until then to figure this out, Naboo, is there anything else that you have not told us?"

Howard squirmed a little as Naboo said there wasn't. There had never been much he knew about the tiny Shaman, but now he didn't know a thing. Everything was alien about the, well, alien.

"Then we shall set our great minds to the task, Saboo, you shall work together with Tony Harrison," Saboo scowled.

"And I shall align my mind with Kirk's." Dennis turned to where the even tinier Shaman was meant to be sitting. The chair was empty.

"Where is Kirk?"

"He was right there, Sire," Saboo unhelpfully added.

"Well he is not now."

"Kirk?"

"Kiiiiirk!"

"Kirky boy – heeere Kirky?"

"Kirk?"

"Sire, it appears Kirk is missing," Saboo said turning to face Dennis, not one of them had risen from their chairs.

"We should not take this matter lightly, Saboo, but Kirk is renowned for his adventures, he could be gallivanting about the streets of Dalston, or he could be wandering the corridors of loneliness –"

"He's probably out back getting high," Naboo replied and the Board nodded, agreeing in boring dulcet tones.

"Harrison, go, find what is keeping Kirk."

"Oh, do I have to? I've been on me feet all day, I'm in a right state of pain."

"On your feet? You haven't moved you plug!"

"Oh dear." Dennis frowned and Naboo emitted a sigh of exasperation.

"Can we get on with this please? We gotta find Vince, he's got one half of the Stone, Howard's gone and lost the other –"

"Hey!" Howard scowled

"We've got an apocalypse to avert?"

"Once again you bring great trouble to this council, Naboo."

"Yeah, so's everyone else. Kirk's got a record longer than my arm. Maybe I should be on the Board, make sense wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps; there are some who could need … replacing." Dennis frowned, peering over at Saboo and Tony Harrison, the former who was holding Harrison away from him with a hand while Harrison tried to 'peel him like a satsuma'.

As much faith he _had _to put in them to get Vince back, Howard felt his hope decline as he listened. How could he find Vince when all he had was _this?_ – A bunch of useless shaman who couldn't keep their minds on the task at hand when they had a more in-depth idea of the 'apocalypse' he and Vince seemed to have gotten themselves into. Especially when they didn't even know about the safety net Naboo had, and when one of their own was AWOL. They barely blinked, they didn't even move.

"_He'll be alright, won't he Naboo?"_

"_Dunno, Howard. It's not up to you anymore."_

Had it ever been up to him to save Vince? Had he ever been anything more to Vince than an eternal shadow? A lurker… a side kick? After all, he hadn't stopped Naboo from splitting them up; he should have tried harder then – if they were together then all this wouldn't have happened.

"_Please, Naboo - "_

_The shaman frowned._

"_Please - Naboo?"_

"_I'll do what I must Howard."_

Howard's bottom lip wavered for a second and he closed his eyes, letting the memory settle. Vince had needed him back then before all this had happened, and he hadn't been able to stop it. He had to keep going now, as pointless as this endeavour seemed he had to keep at it; they had to find him. He had to give Vince some faith in him, in _him,_ whoever he was: James or Howard. He still wasn't sure which, but the feeling in his gut, the vice like grip was universal; whoever he was, they had to get their blue-eyed friend back.

They had to.

But it was out of his hands, and all he could was watch as the Shaman took control of what they deemed their own affairs**,** and as much as he wanted to save Vince all on his own**,** there was a part of him - a part that was half Howard half James that knew he couldn't do it alone, he needed the Shamen's help.

Vince needed their help.

^(*)^

The door shrieked as it was pulled open. Vince cried out as light flooded into the room accompanying the screaming metal on stone. He held his hands up in front of his eyes, little flashing black dots decorating his vision as the only sound echoing in the darkness was the squeak of good leather boots on stone.

"Well, I have to admit, Noir, I never thought I'd say it, but you and Moon aren't completely worthless after all." Bainbridge sneered coming to a stop in front of Vince's cage. Vince blinked up at him and pulled his knees closer to his body in reflex. Even in the darkness he could see Bainbridge hadn't changed; his eyes were still small and sneering, framed with large eyebrows and his moustache bristled, important and proud on his upper lip, as impressive as ever.

"You led me on _quite_ the chase! I thought an hour, maybe two –" he said, pointing down at Vince, "would be all you'd last before I had you back here, and Moon squealing like a pig. But no, you impress me, Noir. You've had me going for six months."

Vince simply blinked; he wasn't sure if Bainbridge was expecting him to say anything and he couldn't find the words anyway. He was cold, Bollo's absence was so pronounced, he shivered.

"But then again it was Naboo's work, wasn't it!" Bainbridge laughed.

"It's been easy enough! Spend six months searching for you _and_ that little Shaman, and really all I had to do was hold out the bone, lure you two out into the open and it all came slotting into place. But you impressed me, Noir. Dragging that blundering buffoon around London for two days, keeping it all up after you'd already stumbled right into my set up. But I won out, I always do. Now, all I have to do is wait for that fool Naboo to exchange what I want for you and all this will be worth it, or even better, it's been quite a lot of fun."

"Glad you enjoyed it."

"Well, you enjoy parties, don't you Noir? I've got one for you now. You're the main guest; let me introduce you to your party guests, Noir. You've met before, of course," Bainbridge boomed and three figures appeared, one tiny, one weedy and one large shuffling figure. Vince looked up and frowned as they came closer.

"Alrigh' there Vince?" Lance Dior smirked, sparkling in the poor light in a shimmering green jacket; it was a pity, Vince thought, the jacket looked good. "I've been waiting for this, you know, getting what's mine, yeah? S'gonna be fun!"

"But not yet. See, Noir, Naboo has something I want, and he's going to give it to me. Or I'm going to give you back, bit by bit. I'm an honest man, I don't usually sneak around like this, but you started it. Naboo's got 'til ten o'clock to give it to me, or you'll get it, Noir. Let's hope Moon has more sense than anyone's given him credit for!" Bainbridge snickered. "Might make that little monkey Shaman see sense!

"After all, he finally managed it! Leaving you behind! Took him long enough, Noir! Never thought I'd give Moon an ounce of respect, but the way he handled it, from what that Baboon told me, Noir, he's not the pathetic stooge I took him for. He's got a peanut somewhere in that cranium of his. Blaming it on the Shaman, smart! Never thought I'd use that word, but then again, sometimes life surprises you. Some days you get lucky. You Noir, aren't going to get lucky. Once I've got confirmation about the Stone, Dior gets you to play with. That's a promise."

Vince stared, not really hearing anything beyond 'blaming it on the Shaman'. He could see Lance Dior standing behind Bainbridge, watching him with a sneering grin. Bainbridge was laughing, and behind them a small man in a turban was watching impassively. Vince shuddered.

"I don't believe you," he murmured, but something clicked into place as he said it. A horrible sinking feeling erupted through him.

"Doesn't matter to me, Noir. By the end of today you're going to be dead, Moon's going to be dead and I'm going to have some sort of unbeatable power. Or that's what this wizard's told me. Ciao." Lance loitered for a moment; as Vince listened to Bainbridge's squeaking leather boots leave the room. Every sound passed straight through him, he felt hollow, and didn't really hear Lance sneer.

"I'll be back to play, laters, Vincie. _Oh great King of Camden."_

Vince's lids rolled shut over dulled blue eyes and tears rolled out from under thick lashes as the memory slotted into place with horrible clarity.

"_I'm just gonna go get a couple of things, yeah?" he grinned, or at least tried. He couldn't let Howard know just how scared he was. He was the sunshine kid; he never got scared, not anymore anyway. And if he did, he never told Howard._

_Despite all his possessions he was only taking one box with him, only the important things. And this needed to be in it. He needed this. The photograph was under the lamp on his bedside table where it always was. Howard didn't know it was there. Howard didn't know much about anything in Vince's room. _

_He smiled as he pulled the photo out. Some random old man had taken it for him. He couldn't remember the day, only the feeling. That warm happy feeling in his gut he didn't feel much anymore. _

_Rolling the photo tight in his grasp Vince plastered his 'calm and collected' face on and bopped to his own beat back into the main room. Howard and Naboo were gone and his calm and collected face slipped for a moment until he heard their voices echoing from Naboo's room._

_Confused, he moved quietly towards the door._

"_- But we are friends, right Naboo?"_

"_Howard, I'm doing this to stop you getting killed, you muppet."_

_Vince peered around the corner; thankful the door was ajar and making sure to keep out of the way. Howard and Naboo were standing opposite each other at lengths across the room. Neither noticed he was there. Howard was silent and nervously shifting on the spot._

"_What is it you want you batty crease?" Naboo asked, back turned to Howard as he toyed with something on his dresser. Howard was still watching the small shaman, twitching. He opened his mouth before shutting it quickly three times before he finally spoke. When he did Vince barely believed what he'd heard._

"_IwantyoutosplitmeandVinceup." _

_Naboo turned around and waited for Howard to say more. Vince felt the air hitch in his throat. Had Howard really said that?_

"_Say it again, you Ballbag, and slowly." Howard took a long visible breath and fixed his eyes on the shaman._

"_I want you to split us up."_

_This time there was no hiding what Howard had said. All the air seemed to disappear from Vince's lungs and he clung to the doorframe, listening to Naboo's voice as though he was far away. Howard wanted to leave. Wanted to leave him. Howard didn't want him any more. _

"_What? Why you muppet?"_

_  
"I, I cant do it any more, Naboo. I can't handle this anymore. All of it. I just – I need to get away, and this is the best thing to do. He won't even remember me, right? You said you'd make us forget. Make him forget! You can just make him forget me." Vince had to stop himself from crying out. How could it be possible to forget Howard? It's Naboo, though wasn't it? He could do anything. _

"_Its not that easy, Howard."_

_  
"Please, Naboo. I have to take this chance. It's too hard otherwise. I could never do it. But I have to. We've been together too long, and I can't stay. I don't want to remember leaving him. Please, Naboo." Vince closed his eyes, leaning against the wall beside the door, listening to Howard try and make Naboo understand. He, Vince, wasn't who Howard wanted to be with anymore. He wasn't enough. He was never enough, and now Howard wanted to leave him, too. Two lone tears spilled out from under his lashes and fell down his cheeks._

_  
"Please."_

_The shaman frowned, fixing his gaze on Howard's desperate own._

"_Please Naboo."_

"_I'll do what I must Howard." Naboo sighed, giving in. Vince waited. Half expecting a relieved sigh. It didn't come. _

"_Can you do something else, Naboo?" Howard's voice was soft this time. What was he thinking? What was he on? Vince waited, straining to hear every sound from the other room. Trying not to collapse in on himself, trying not to let Howard know just how much hearing this was breaking him apart. Try not to let Howard know at all._

"_What?"_

"_Tell him it's your idea."_

"_Are you high?"_

"_I can't do it, Naboo! It'll just – I. I cant."_

_There was silence for a moment._

"_On one condition, Howard."_

"_What? Tell me."_

_  
"You're the one who tells him you're being split up. Blame it on me, but you tell him." Vince's eyes sprang open. He couldn't believe it. Howard didn't even have the courage to tell him himself. His stomach suddenly became tight and anger bubbled, building and building._

_Howard was a coward. Running away. _

_Howard was smart._

_Vince pressed his hands to his eyelids, feeling tears welling up strong and the desire to cry and sob expelled that fuelling anger as he heard Naboo betray him with one word. _

"_Alright." _

_He was walking away from the door before he could think. Listening to everyone he loved betray him over and over again. He dropped the small photograph on the table haphazardly. It fell short of the box and he didn't really care at all._

"_Vince!" Howard's voice, attempting to resume the panic of before, preceded the maverick and as he turned to face him, Vince silently thanked years of practice at hiding his real face as he plastered on his usual grin. Howard fell for it completely._

_But all Vince could think of, as Howard tried to explain to him, dejectedly, that Naboo insisted they were to split up, was the betrayal behind those words._

_He wasn't taking the box anymore._

_Vince Noir was staying here completely. _

A sob tore from Vince's lips as he dropped his head onto his chest, arms wrapped tightly around him. The memory settled firmly in place. There was no confusion, no hesitance; it was real. Howard had left him; he could feel the same horrible disappointment, the same crushing fear in his gut as he had in those moments, listening to Howard and Naboo betray him, the pair of them abandoning him. They all did in the end. Eventually they all ran away from him, ran to bigger and better things; that was the way his world worked. After all these years he'd just hoped that Howard wouldn't realise he could do so much better, that he'd stay, and he had for years – but the same way he'd kept that tall maverick by his side had instead pushed him away by the end of had chosen to forget him rather than to stay, James had decided to run than to stick it out – in the end neither of them wanted _him._ Not the way he'd wanted them, _Howard_; the way that deep down he couldn't forget him. For all the heartbreak, for all Naboo's magic he'd still gone looking – _Nate_ had still wound up in Leeds of all places, wandering, lost and confused and searching for what was _missing_. Maybe if Howard had been honest with him when he left they wouldn't be where they were. But for all his misgivings, Vince couldn't begrudge Howard anything, he couldn't regret it; he'd spent two days with Howard that otherwise they'd never have had, and if it came down to it, then that was something to die happy with.

The cold swirled around him as his body lost all tension, the chill clung to his arms through his jacket, pressing against the skin on his face and the strip of flesh bared at his back where his shirt and jacket round up and his jeans hung low. He shivered as a wracking sob escaped him; he was cold and alone and as tears spilled down his cheeks, Vince Noir gave up.

^(*)^


	8. Lost along the way

Chapter Eight

Lost along the Way

_You're my mystery, one mystery _

_No silence solidifies until that hollow void erases you_

Erases you so that I can't feel at all.

_But if I never feel again_

_At least that nothingness will end_

_The painful dream of you and me_

_If things get real for me down here_

_Promise to take me to before you went away_

_If only for a day_

_If things get real for me down here_

_Promise to take me back to the tune we played before you went away_

Sound of White

Missy Higgins

"Kirk is not outside, Sire." Howard blinked at the shaman standing in front of him. He was just one of Dennis' lackeys from the other table, but his words seemed to drill through Howard. The last hour seemed to have flown by in a flurry of people searching for the tiny shaman, making sure that their suspicions weren't unfounded. Howard had barely been able to keep up with it, watching everyone else run around searching while the Board sat by and talked amongst themselves in whispers that he couldn't hear and that made Naboo frown more than once. Howard had found himself fighting panic for a while, as he felt the time slip by unheeded. Every moment that passed Vince was out there, in whoever's clutches, all alone and in danger. He had part of the world's most dangerous possession, and by all rights he probably didn't even know it. Howard hadn't remembered Naboo's words before they'd left. Did Vince? He honestly didn't know, and that sense of panic, of dread and shame, seemed to give off like radio waves; Naboo offered him a comforting glance, but if anything that only made matters worse.

"It appears Kirk is gone –" Dennis said, finally, looking between Saboo and Tony.

"Looks that way."

"He's gone, you plum. He left the table when we went out to Howard's car." Naboo scowled, folding his arms. Dennis blinked and seemed to take a moment to realise Naboo had called _him_ a plum but by that stage Naboo was talking again. "We should have kept a better eye on him. He shouldn't have even been on this case, with his history! He's run off, and he's probably got the piece of the Stone."

"There is little evidence of that –" Saboo began, but Naboo scowled and interrupted.

"It's Kirk!"

"If Kirk has a part in this, then circumstances are more dire than we first anticipated!" Dennis said, sombrely.

"Something must be done!" Tony wailed, his only reliable input.

"You cannot believe Kirk is involved in this. It has been centuries since Kirk –"

"Quiet, Saboo. Kirk has a malignant mind – he is calculating and sadistic! There is little chance that he is not –"

Their arguing built and built until, as if to serenade their argument, there was a loud crash up above and everyone ducked as glass shattered everywhere. Somewhere someone screamed like a girl as whatever it was landed on the balcony by the window with several thuds. Then silence took hold, no one daring to even breathe too loudly. No one moved, frozen, waiting for the sound of something else to happen. But the quiet continued and then, at long last Howard watched as Naboo rolled his eyes in frustration and moved forward. His curled sneakers squeaked as he began to climb up the stairs.

"It's a brick," he called down a moment later. The Board immediately started to murmur to themselves, but Howard wasn't listening, he focussed all his attention on Naboo and whatever it was he was holding, brick or no.

"There's a note." Naboo didn't say anything else though as he peeled off a sheet of paper and read it, walking slowly back down the stairs back to his position in front of the Board.

"What is it?" Howard asked. Naboo swallowed and a jolt passed through Howard, his stomach sinking.

"It's a ransom letter," the Shaman murmured softly.

"From Vince?"

"From Vince's captors, you berk." That seemed to lighten the air. Naboo passed the note to the board who began to read.

"Oh, right."

No one seemed to say anything as they read it, Howard merely watched, but as Dennis finished reading no one passed it to him.

"What does it say?"

"They've got Vince," Naboo murmured. Howard scowled. That was obvious enough.

"Right."

"They want the Stone, in exchange."

"Well then let's go, we'll swap it over."

"Howard you twat, we don't have it anymore. Vince had a piece and yours is missing. We've got nothing to bargain with." Everything of feeling within Howard suddenly turned icy cold.

"What are they going to do? What'll happen if we don't give it to them?"

Naboo looked pained and that was enough, he didn't even need to speak.

"They'll kill him, Howard."

"They wouldn't do that to him, would they? Does it say who's got him? We can go get him. Can't we? Naboo? We'll just take him. Storm in and take him."

"We don't have any idea who it is, Howard. All we know is that Kirk's gone."

"And if indeed Kirk is involved in this, then the human race must make itself ready to endure bloodshed and slaughter. There is not much to stop the wielder of the Namahs Stone. It takes the heart of a lion to do so."

"Well then it's been done before. We can do it again."

"Kirk will not be so easy to defeat this time. We tricked him last time, he will have learned from his mistakes."

"What is this all to do with Kirk?"

"Kirk's used the Stone before Howard. It's where his behaviour started."

"I don't care about Kirk, what about Vince?"

"Maybe when Kirk brings that other bit they'll give him back. He's just a pawn in this, Howard."

"Oh."

"But if they want Vince in exchange for the stone doesn't that mean they didn't take my half from the car?"

Naboo paused, the entire board looking at him. Howard's logic seemed to match; the tiny shaman frowned.

"Looks that way. Which would mean Kirk is working on his own. That means there's two contenders. Kirk, and everybody else. Kirk has one bit, they have the other – and we want what they've all got."

No one seemed to have anything to say and the quiet closed in on Howard.

"What are we going to do?"

"We're gonna figure this out, that's what," Naboo said.

Howard wasn't sure he could accept that much conviction from a mouth that had spent more time around a hookah than Howard been alive. It was strange, but then everything was.

He just wanted normal strange back.

Just him, his stoned landlord, their DJ-ing gorilla, and his androgynous little berk who made the sun rise every day.

Was that too much to ask?

^(*)^

Bainbridge looked up as the gorilla let the door slide closed. "What on earth are you doing here?" he boomed, recognising the small figure following behind the lumbering ape.

"You're supposed to keep those fools occupied!"

"I've got this," Kirk said, holding out his hand where a shiny gold stand made of wire, and gleaming with ancient runes, perched.

"A piece of the stone. Know where the other bit is too." Bainbridge's sneer faded as he stared at the object in front of him. After months of old stories and promises from a mute midget in a turban and this calculating blonde child he finally had proof this thing existed. It was only a piece, a wire stand no bigger than the palm is sat on; a tea-light stand bought in any pound shop – and yet he could not doubt the power within it. It seemed to buzz with a strange energy that he hadn't felt in years; a mixture of anticipation and _fear._ It was a rush he had once thrived on, and yearned to again. He leant forward.

"Where?"

"Noir."

Bainbridge chuckled, low and rumbling.

"Banoo – get Dior, I need him to get me something."

^(*)^

Howard drummed his fingers on his knees; one, two, three, four; one, two, three, four. The Shaman were arguing, _again_, but the sound of it was droning on in the background, and Howard was lost somewhere between consciousness and dreams; a replay of memories punctured by the sound of Tony Harrison's wailing. It hadn't taken them as long to get over that Kirk had gone - and Howard's piece of the Stone and their only bargaining power with him - as it had for them to _confirm_ he had gone, but the Board still had yet to decide what they were going to do about it all. Someone at some point had gone out for chips and the entire club smelt like grease and overcooked fish, but nothing had happened of any significance for ages. The sinking feeling in Howard's guts that had taken over had stopped when it seemed his stomach reached his boots and settled, leaving him feeling morose and otherwise empty. Vince had been gone for hours now and the knowledge that he was somewhere – scared and alone, made Howard want to smash something, so he'd stopped thinking about that, turning his attentions to what had got them all in this mess. He knew _who_ had got them in it now; Naboo and his stupid back market dealings had done all this. But what it was from there, _who_ it was who now had Vince – who had been chasing them as well as Saboo and Kirkall those hours ago on the carpet, whoever it was who was working _alongside_ Kirk if not _with_ him to get them here, Vinceless and virtually powerless– that was still up in arms. Howard closed his eyes and rested his head up against the wall, tapping his fingers against his knees again; one, two, three, four.

"_I don't want you to go without me, Howard."_

_  
"We have to."  
_

"_Why?"  
_

"_It's for the best."_

He still didn't know why they'd been separated, why Vince had been Nate and he had been James and why they hadn't been _together_. That was a question that once it had occurred to him hadn't left Howard's brain for a second. His hiding in the shadows onstage had been with the intention of figuring it out, but his mind was slow and being stubborn. Small snippets slipped through but while he felt _Howard_, he knew he wasn't really back in the Maverick's shoes. In reality he was wearing James' shoes and James' shirt and James' jeans; it was James' beard and James' longer hair; it was James' phone and friends and life – and on the other hand it was Howard's life – _Howard's_ Vince they were looking for. Because James had left Nate standing in an alleyway in the middle of Brent, and it had been Vince chasing after Howard and Vince being drugged and dragged away and _Howard_ too slow to stop any of it.

"_HOWARD!"_ that scream would haunt him forever. It had been so desperate; torn and brittle and terrified, tinged with a small fading hope, _turn around, please, please turn around._

He'd turned around, _Howard_ had turned around, but he'd been too late – they'd been followed again, they'd been found again. _They told me to call them when you came back, and I did, they're coming. They told me to call them and I did. Bobby's a good boy!_

Fossil had recognised them; such was the power of Naboo's spell that neither of them had recognised _Fossil_, but Naboo hadn't bothered to think about Fossil or – who else had been looking out for them? Who had been the one to put the posters on the front of the Nabootique? Someone had spent a lot of time and money doing that. Someone had tried to look for them, _them_, not just Vince, so it wasn't simply Vince's Shoreditch subjects. Someone had been looking for them, - and yet they hadn't bothered with showing his face. His mood, lifted slightly at the possibility he wasn't just a freak, that Howard Moon had been remembered, dropped like a stone, splashing and sloshing memories this way and that.

"_I saw that before … __I don__'__t know why they didn__'__t show his face. But it__'__s sad, innit? That no one knew him enough __–__ or liked him enough to actually put his face there,__"_

_the weight of Nate__s__'__–_Vince's – _hand on his arm, the sadness in his eyes. _

"_Yeah –"_

*

"_I__'__m bored, Howard.__"_

_  
__"Then do something, get off the couch and actually do something, Vince."__  
_

"_Can we go on an adventure, Howard?"__  
_

"_I can take you across town if you like, there'__s a antiques road show in Manchester if you__'__d like so__me__thing adventurous.__"__  
_

"_Nothing like that, Howard. Something fun. That'__s just creepy!__"_

*

"_Do it, James.__"__  
_

"_Do what, sir?"__  
_

"_This –"__ warm lips pressed against his own, sticky and sweet. They melded against his, a shaky breath exhaled between parted lips __–__ sugar and hairspray and a _familiar _warm scent penetrating his nostrils__…._

_Panic, gripping tight and fast and catching his breath. _

"_Don'__t __–"_

"_Howard –"_

"Howard!"

Howard looked up and found Naboo standing over him, with a small frown on his lips.

"Hey."

"You okay?" Howard took a moment to take in the question that had just been asked of him; _Naboo_ asking _him_ whether he was all right? It felt far too odd.

"It feels weird, my head," he murmured softly. Naboo's expression softened. "I don't know who's who sometimes, what's me and what's him – what's real. All I know is that I need Vince back; everything I can remember has him in it. I need him back."

Naboo nodded and sat down next to him. Howard glanced over and then when Naboo caught him looking, he went back to drumming his fingers on his leg.

"I left him. I have to find him," Howard said, still not looking up.

"We will."

"How did you, before?"

"Huh?"

"How did you find us, Naboo? Back at the club. How – we'd dropped everyone off our tail, but then everyone found us again. Both you and - and whoever it is - "

"Fossil called me," Naboo said softly. "When you were here – he called. I came and found him when that story first got spread that I was dead, about a week ago. Before all this started. Thought if anyone knew what was going on around Dalston it'd be Fossil. He didn't, but he said he'd keep an eye out and call me if he found anything. He called me a couple of days ago, Thursday it was, and said that Vince was there. By the time I got here he'd gone."

"He was there – his band, _Nate's_ band played there."

"That's what Fossil said, said Vince was singing again. I didn't know what to think, Fossil was pretty nuts. So I left it. He called again, though. Said you pair were _both _there, which of course this time I believed. I'd figured I had to do something so when I first got into town, when I saw Fossil the first time I tracked down Dennis and told him a little - told him Fossil said he'd seen Vince. Dennis called me the next day when Saboo and Kirk apparently got a speeding fine for chasing Vince in some taxi. We were running around trying to track you down, didn't know where you were – that's when Fossil called us, or me. Came here and you were gone. You were a right pain, Howard. Though I suppose that's a good thing, all things considered. Whose idea was it to go back to the Nabootique?"

"Vince's. Or – Nate's." Howard frowned. "I don't know what to call him."

"Vince. Call him Vince. It was Vince's idea, Howard. Vince was harder to work than you. He didn't want to forget things so Nate was more Vince than James was Howard."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say to that, so instead he looked at his shoes.

"I miss him. James didn't, because he didn't know what he'd had, but _I _miss him."

"I know Howard. You'd be surprised what went on, you know. How many people missed you. I think even Fossil missed you a bit."

"Fossil tried to lock us in, while we were here."

"See, that's affection."

"You're a bit twisted, I think."

"He's the one who's twisted, Howard."

Howard chuckled. "Yeah."

"What does the note say, Naboo?"

The tiny shaman breathed out and then turned to face Howard.

"Just says they've got him. That they want the Stone; that they'd meet in the car-park behind the Dragon Bar at half ten. That was it."

"Then why didn't you let me read it?"

"Dunno." Naboo shrugged, getting to his feet.

"He'll be okay, Howard. We'll get him back."

"Yeah." Howard nodded. He wanted to do something himself, but he couldn't. How many times had _that_ gone as he'd planned? How many times had he needed Vince to come and rescue him when he'd gone off on his own? Every time. He couldn't blow it this time, not when it was _Vince_ who needed him. He looked over at the Board. They were a shambles, but they were their best chance. They'd kept this in check before, they were Shaman, and they had Naboo, and Naboo had always got them out of their messes before. He could do it again. He just had to wait and trust.

As hard as it was.

"We're coming, Vince. Don't give up on me, not yet. I'm coming," he murmured, wishing that his friend could hear him.

^(*)^

The door shrieked open and Vince cringed. The sound was like piercing knives; they seemed to tear through him, dragging him back into painful consciousness. He didn't know how long he'd been there, drifting between sleep and waking. All he knew was that his fingers were impossibly cold and even his toes felt numb inside his boots. His breath burst out in jagged, little white puffs. Everything hurt.

"S'your lucky day, Vincie. An' by yours I mean mine." Lance grinned, heels clicking on the ground and his impeccable smile leering out of the darkness. Vince shuddered and slumped back in himself. He didn't want to know, he wanted it over with; he wanted Bollo, he wanted Naboo. He wanted Howard.

But Naboo wasn't there, Bollo had been taken away from him – and Howard, Howard had turned and walked away. Howard had wanted something else, something more, that wasn't anything Vince could give him. And he must have found it in James' life – because even James didn't want Nate.

"_No – this is wrong. I can't. It's _wrong."

A small sound escaped his lips and Lance's snigger echoed around the room. Vince only vaguely remembered this place – he'd rescued Howard from here once upon a dream. He'd opened the cage where he was now and freed the group of mutants within. But now he was the one locked up, and no one was here to rescue him. All there was, was Lance Dior and Harold Boom.

"Time's up, Vincie. They ain't coming. We don't need 'em no more." Lance sneered, heels clicking.

He walked right up to Vince and leaned down. Vince could see his shadow through his lashes, the high boosted hair, the gleaming teeth, the large fur collar on that brilliant green coat.

"We've got everything we need right here," he said and reached forward to take the pendant hanging around Vince's neck. Something inside him screamed _no!_ but he couldn't even muster the energy to open his eyes properly, let alone put any effort into stopping Lance from tearing the pendant from around his neck and standing up, smiling triumphantly.

"You've been a lot of help, Vincie, and I still get to have a lot more fun with ya. Though, I'm gonna let Harold do most of it, yeah? Cause whatever it is; I don't want none of it messing with me, do I? I don't even know what he's chosen yet, only it's _jazz_, Vincie, and you're gonna enjoy it, yeah? Just think, you get to float away listening to that Mingal crap – thinking 'bout Howard and how he's left you 'ere to die. How he ran away from you." Vince choked on the sob climbing his throat. He couldn't let it happen, couldn't let it out into the open air. He had to win this one, this tiny little victory over Lance before he lost the war completely – because he knew that he was going to. Everything was dark around the edges and it hurt to breathe, his tiny little burst of white smoke smaller and fewer between. And it really hadn't even started yet.

"Cheers, Vincie. Bainbridge thanks you, yeah?" Lance grinned, and Vince listened to his heels click to the door and then it screeched closed.

There was horrible deafening silence for a moment and then a bumbling sound before something began to float from the speakers. Trumpet, trombone – and then as he let out the sob he'd been trying to suppress, shuddering and shaking, the sound of scatting filled the air.

The air seemed to seize in his throat as throughout his body, his already muddled cells began to panic.

"H-Howard –" he stuttered, terrified.

"H-help me, H-Howard."

^(*)^

Howard's head snapped up as Naboo approached him; the Shaman's curled sneakers squeaking on the vinyl floor of the stage before he stopped right in front of Howard.

"We know where Vince is."

Howard stared up at his friend, waiting for some 'but' to come into the equation. Nothing seemed to come. Naboo just stared, face completely blank, waiting for Howard to say something. His voice croaked as he finally found it.

"Where is he?"

"The Zooniverse." Naboo shrugged, as if it was the most obvious place in the world, not the OH&S safety nightmare it was; the dank, dangerous closed amusement park that did little to amuse, more to terrify. There were memories about those last few hours when the Zoo was forcefully shut that Howard knew he didn't want to look at. He'd skimmed the labels in the 'do not open' folder of his brain, here in the solitude, waiting for these words, but by no means had Howard actually looked at any of them.

"The Zooniverse? Why is he there?"

"He's with Bainbridge."

"Bainbridge!" Just the name made Howard shudder, without consultation a memory rose to the surface, a dark back room, pink pants and purple bruises. Howard tried very hard not to flush. "What's he got to do with this?"

"He's the one in charge, Howard. He's the antagonist. This is his game plan."

"Bainbridge?"

"Yeah."

"How on earth did you figure all this out? I just went to the bathroom - " before he'd left the Board had been all whispering and frowns, Tony Harrison breaking up with a prolonged nasal shriek, but otherwise nothing had really come of anything for ages. And now, after five minutes, they had all this; they knew where Vince was, they knew who they were after. It was so implausible it was reasonable. After all it was Naboo.

"Had a cuppa." Naboo shrugged.

"A _cuppa_?"

"Yeah, it was written in the tealeaves." And sure enough as Howard leant over in the row of four cups there were answers written plain as day; 'Bainbridge is antagonist' was written in Saboo's, 'take rubber dingy' written in Tony's, 'Vince is at Zooniverse', written in Naboo's, 'buy milk when you come home' written in Dennis'.

"Oh," Howard said.

There was nothing else to say really, except:

"What are we waiting for? Lets go!"

^(*)^

A shuddering sound escaped Vince's lips; part cry-part gasp, his hands shook as he clutched them to his chest. The world was fading in and out, a shadow creeping over everything warping it in and out of focus, darkness, and then starting again.

The door screeched open, the sound chilling through him – but strangely far away; it reverberated around in quaking gasps – rippling sound like he was underwater. He felt light enough, weightless, weak.

Another noise followed the sound of the door opening, swelling and breaking through the music wafting around in scatting and trumpets and trombones.

He couldn't understand what they were saying; the shadows crept back stronger than ever, he blinked but everything warped again and the shadows rushed back.

"Turn- crap –off - berk!" Vince shuddered; the world wasn't right, he couldn't breathe, everything was _wrong._

"NOW!"

His eyelids were heavy, sliding closed of their own accord. He was floating. Floating far away.

He couldn't hear the music anymore, the scatting was completely gone, he was too far away. The world was disappearing.

"Better – killed – Harold – need – now."

It was peaceful; it didn't hurt so much now.

Floating.

He was floating.

^(*)^

The Zooniverse loomed dark and foreboding. The sun had barely disappeared, but it had gotten impossibly dark impossibly quickly, leaving the Moon staring down on them all. Howard glanced upwards and frowned. He could see the face in its milky white surface now, but he hadn't been able to as James. How much of the world had been that way? How much had he missed with his eyes half closed? – Just because it made him happier. But how could being blind make him happier? Ignorance _was_ bliss, it seemed, as contrary as he'd always thought.

"Howard?"

"You sure he's here?" he asked, peering at Naboo in the shifting shadows. Naboo's mouth quirked into a frown.

"That's what the cup said."

The gate shrieked as they opened it and slipped inside. The zoo was bare, animal's cages were half open or with their doors pulled off their hinges. Leaves were everywhere and so were overturned benches and wheelbarrows. It was desolate and broken and yet something stirred in Howard. It had been a terrifying day that last day here, but the days before had been filled with so much that he remembered vaguely, but fondly none the less. It had been a strange existence back then, and being back, seeing it in disrepair made him feel unsettled. An unusual creeping nostalgia for a time with blonde highlights and green uniforms and the Human league, sleeping on the floor and losing the porpoise derby to the sounds of a single whooping cheer, solely for him.

They'd barely entered, anxious steps, just him and Naboo while the other shaman waited outside, waited for their signal or whatever Naboo had organised; Howard didn't know what was going on after 'you find Vince, Howard'. They hadn't got much further than the gate when a voice rippled from the darkness of the winding zoo.

"Well well well," Howard jumped, looking left and right as he recognised the deep baritone of his former employer: Dixon Bainbridge.

"Naboo the enigma." Naboo didn't move, he simply stood and faced the front, waiting.

"Show yourself Bainbridge!" Howard called, finding some well of pride and strength. Bainbridge laughed.

"And Howard Moon, you know you're a bit late, Moon." Bainbridge emerged from the darkness. He looked exactly the same as Howard remembered him; arrogant and broad – his moustache bristling.

"Where is he, Bainbridge?"

"Noir? You've just missed him, Moon. He'll be dead by now – I'm sure his ghost will thank you for your prompt arrival. After all, he thought you'd never come after him at all." Howard's stomach dropped. He stared at Bainbridge's sneering face.

"Don't bait Howard. Vince isn't dead yet. He wouldn't be – he needs him now."

"What makes you think that, Naboo?"

"Because you haven't been able to use the Stone yet. You don't have all the pieces." Naboo smirked at Bainbridge, whose sneer grew.

"And you knew that."

"Yeah. Kirk didn't; I never told the Board how many pieces there were, only that Vince had one and Howard had one. Never told them any more – I knew there was something going on." Howard looked over at the tiny Shaman with awe. He'd always regarded Naboo as a slow thinker – while he knew what he was talking about when he did speak Howard had never really thought Naboo could fix so many things into place so easily. It was as unnerving as the gleam in his eyes that told anyone who'd known the Shaman he wasn't stoned at all. Howard looked between Naboo and Bainbridge. Naboo had obviously been planning something for hours – trying to slot everything into place, and he had succeeded where Howard had failed. The 'evidence' had indicated that Kirk was only working with himself - but…. but now it seemed that Kirk _had_ been working with Bainbridge after all. Fossil had been working with Naboo – but Fossil had run off when Kirk had let him out, the small Shaman betting on Fossil's warped affection for his former employer to provide an easy distraction. Naboo had split the stone into at least three parts, but had told no one that he had, keeping one part of the equation very close to his chest indeed. It snapped into place with a click – Naboo had always known that someone on the Board would give in to their yearning for the Stone. He'd known that he couldn't trust his own brethren, and it seemed he couldn't trust him and Vince to be together – why else would he have split them? That still perplexed him, why with their memories wiped they'd split up, and then, despite it, they'd been drawn back to everything. Back to the Onion, back to the Nabootique, back to each other. Despite everything that had happened, that was happening they had still come back to each other – only to be torn apart - once again by Naboo's meddling.

"Banoo – why didn't you tell me there was a piece missing?" Bainbridge sneered, and Howard glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a small shadow disappearing into the maze. Banoo – that name was familiar, he knew it was Howard's memory, but it was like an itch he couldn't scratch. Naboo was watching the shadow as well.

"Cause he didn't know. No one's seen the stone in centuries, if anyone was going to know it would have been Kirk." The tilt in Naboo's voice told Howard that the smaller shaman, if he wasn't concerned with keeping a respective composure, would have been skipping up and down the Zooniverse singing.

"Kirk sided with me when he learned what we were after. He aligned months ago. I can offer him what you fools can't. Revenge. For what happened last time."

"The stone is too powerful, things would have got far out of control if we hadn't intervened. And things would go the same way this time. It's a fool's errand, Bainbridge."

"What happened last time is not something worth repetition, I'm not a fool, Naboo – do I look like a fool? No, I didn't think so. What happened before has nothing to do with what will happen once I get that third piece off you, Naboo. I like a man who is not afraid to serve his own purpose and solely that. Someone who is not afraid to get his hands dirty to keep a reputation intact. Kirk is that type of man, or shaman, whatever you want to call it. Either way he was willing to betray you all to help me get my hands on this stone of yours and at the same time he saved his own skin and sacrificed yours. Smart move, in my book. Good job too – he's been a lot of help, going to be a lot more. Which is saying something. He even sent me Fossil – how long I've wanted to take a piece of that mans hide – and now I finally get to. It's a well rounded plan; everyone gets what they want. I get what I want and you fools all lose. It's a perfect situation; what do you think, Moon? You'll be almost as good to have fun with as Fossil."

"How did you even know about all this?" Howard asked, puzzled.

"One thing about a Shaman, Moon, is feed them full of Jack and they'll tell you next to anything. Worst thing to happen to that ginger fool – two bottles and that idiot told anyone who stood still long enough he had something worth a lot of dosh. Told him I'd make the transaction. But before I could fix the deal he'd got rid of it. Sent it on, I found out – to you, Naboo. Tell me, tiny Shaman, what does it feel like knowing your friend ratted you out with his last breath?"

Naboo didn't say anything, he simply frowned.

"You don't surround yourself with friends, Naboo – your familiar squealed almost as soon as we got him here.

"And Noir –" Bainbridge was sneering as he shook his head, tutting under his breath.

"He was even worse, died crying like the girl he is."

"Don't rise to it, Howard," Naboo murmured.

"But _Vince_ –"

"Don't."

Howard nodded.

"Where is he?"

"Who, Vince? In the freezer where the corpses belong, Naboo. Where else would he be?"

A small keening sound escaped Howard's lips and he felt a hand on his arm. He looked down to see Naboo peering up at him solemnly. A look in his eyes telling him to wait, to hope. But how could he hope when Bainbridge was smiling the way he was? Taking pleasure in it all.

"He's not dead, is he Bainbridge? You need him, after all. You thought you had everything; you were ready to kill him. And you would have, hours ago - if what you say is true and Bollo had told everything. If he had then you'd know there was another piece and you would've acted accordingly. You figured out you needed him when it didn't work; you need him, so why would you kill him? Bollo knew there was a third part and you wouldn't be pretending he's dead if Bollo had said anything. So really, Bainbridge, you know nothing."

There was a strange look on Bainbridge's face for a second, almost like a bug would have pressed up against the wall with the insect killer looming down on them. He looked afraid and lost – like he had no idea what was going on, what to do. But then composure took over again and his outward appearance said nothing of the fact it seemed all of Bainbridge's knowledge was full of holes.

"I know where your friends are, Naboo – and that is no doubt of some particular merit? Give me the last piece and you might be fast enough to save that little ponce. Can't be sure though – he was particularly distressed over _something_," Bainbridge sneered, meeting Howard's eyes as he finished. Howard could feel his heart thudding away in his throat. If he opened his mouth he was going to be sick. He was going to vomit up his own vital organs, of that he was sure. His hands twitched as Bainbridge laughed. He really wanted to punch him, try and push that man and his moustache back into the hole he'd come from.

But before he could work up the courage to do anything other than take a step forward there was a loud roar and a large black shape emerged from the darkness of the ocelot pit.

Howard felt panic stir in his stomach, and he was all ready to turn and run when he heard Naboo shout in exaltation _Bollo!_ Howard's panic receded a little, swirling in his stomach, but the noise continued. It took him a moment to realise that Bollo's unexplained entrance had alerted the waiting Shaman and the rest were storming the Zooniverse.

It was a sudden rush of nerves and shadows and colours; limbs jostling Howard as they rushed past. It was a thunderous sound, screaming and shouting. Howard felt panic take hold; he didn't know what he was doing. It was all fine in the planning stages, but now in the chaos he couldn't for the life of him _anything. _

"Howard! Find Vince!" Naboo's voice suddenly cut through the melee, and as the words went into his brain Howard felt everything click into place again. That was why he was here. Vince. He was here for Vince. And that was on his mind as he ran into the weave of the old zoo, hoping against hope that what Bainbridge had said wasn't true – that it was all a ridiculous lie. But there was a sick feeling in his gut that kept whispering those words _I don't know; he was particularly distressed over something…_

The roar of the Shaman storming the dilapidated old zoo was thunderous in Howard's ears, like the sound of the ocean chasing a frightened child away from its encroaching claws. Only Howard's fear, he realised with sudden clarity, wasn't entirely his – it was a nagging nail biting terror that maybe Bainbridge was right – maybe Vince _had_ been alright before but with all possibility wasn't now. The zoo winded and twisted and the small voice that had been tormenting him all day had suddenly found reason and began shouting _left, right – no right, left again – hurry! _ It was as though they had some outside knowledge and knew exactly where they were going, leaving Howard privy to its location as he saw the door and its brilliant white sign; Secret Lab.

Charging the door, Howard tore it open and saw him half a second before they collided, no chance to stop. There was a shout of surprise as they crashed, and Howard's brain deciphered a skinny body like a rake and a head of black hair, and he felt a small stab of panic as he watched them fall backwards, before he fixed on their face and his own shout of surprise turned into a name.

"Lance Dior!" Said doppelganger tipped backwards and began to roll backwards down the small run of stairs. Falling backwards with as much grace as Howard could have managed, and then, as if Lady Luck herself was willing Howard on, Lance stepped back and tangled his high white boots in the mop carelessly discarded years ago when the zoo was closed. There was a stupid comical flailing of arms as Lance let out a yell of annoyance and surprise, and fell, slamming his head on the wall as he went, coming to a stop limp on the floor right outside the janitors closet.

Howard stared; amazed at his luck and at how quickly and spectacularly it had all gone down. _That_ was why you always put the cleaning equipment away. The thought floated unbidden to the top of his conscious and a spluttering laugh escaped his lips. Vince had always rolled his eyes and laughed or sneered at him whenever he'd forewarned such perils in careless leaving of equipment around the place. Who was laughing now? Staring at the pallid face in front of him Howard felt a stab of pain as he recognised the similarities between Lance and Vince. If he squinted it could have been his best friend in front of him, but it wasn't, he reminded himself firmly as he dragged Lance inside the janitors closet and shut the door (but not before giving him a good kick.).

^(*)^

Hurrying down the stairs, once again guided by the voice in his head reading from a file taken from a carefully recorded system, Howard felt caution take over and as he neared the door he slowed before coming to a stop. There was no chance he could sneak through the metal roller door – no chance in hell. For a second he seriously considered turning back and trying to find someone else to help, but the image of Vince replacing Lance's pallid face filled Howard with a warm buzzing that made him puff out his chest and stand tall. He was Howard Moon, Jazz Maverick; he was a Man of Action and he could take on whoever it was behind the door. He frowned at it, there didn't seem to be any noise coming from within and that made him slightly nervous. He backed up flat against the wall, a small hard package pressing into his backside. His phone. He frowned and then the light went on in his brain and he pulled it out – scrolling through the list of ring tones quick smart before finding one that no man on earth could resist. Taking up the discarded piece of piping he'd pilfered from the closet where he'd dumped Lance, Howard pressed play. The phone buzzed annoyingly for a moment and then began playing its piercing tune at full ball. Howard waited with baited breath, hoping, praying.

The door opened with a painful shriek and a trilby preceded a head of wispy brown hair and a fuzzy moustache. But Howard didn't stop to take in who his opponent was, and took his chance and swung out with the pipe. It collided with the side of Harold Boom's head with a resounding BONG that made Howard seriously contemplate trying to record the sound for use later, perhaps in a revival of their band, him and Vince.

The impostor crumpled to the ground at Howard's feet and for a second, once again Howard was struck with the sudden confusion about what the hell to do next. Nothing ever went as easy as it had done, surely something was going to go wrong. He was Howard Moon, nothing ever went to plan, not for him. Dragging the limp form aside he slipped inside the room. It was the same as he remembered, low hung lights and cold stone. It was freezing and eerie. His breath came out in white puffs of smoke as he surveyed his surroundings - barely breathing so he could hear the faintest sound. Then he saw it, the old cage him and Vince had sprung a group of foul mutants from all those years ago and, squinting in the poor light, Howard made out a small sodden shape in the far back of the cell.

Vince.

The air left his lungs in one gasp.

"Vince!" his voice echoed around the room, serenading him as he rushed across the room to where Vince was slumped in the cage.

"Vince!" he called, rattling the bars on the cage, but Vince didn't stir.

"It's alright Vince, I'm here – I'll get you out!" But padlock was padlock and Howard wasn't sure what to do.

"I'll be back, I'm not going anywhere, Vince!" he called to the prone form before he even took a step away. Harold was still out cold when Howard rushed over to him and began to go through his pockets. He'd never done anything like it before, and it felt strange, rude almost.

"Sorry," he found himself saying to the unconscious berk at his feet, which only made him blush.

Harold didn't seem to have anything on him, which made Howard swear in frustration.

He had to get Vince out, and he had no idea what he was doing.

"I'll be back, Vince – I'm going to find help. I'll be right back, I promise!"

It was clear Vince hadn't heard him, the smaller man still hadn't stirred on the other side of the bars, but it made the difference that Howard told him, out loud, that he wasn't leaving him again. He was trying to help.

Running back the way he came, the air tearing out of his lungs painfully Howard _ran. _He ran like he had when Lance and Harold had first taken Vince all those hours ago – and this time he wasn't going to fail his friend. Even though he had – he couldn't get him out of that cell without someone's help. Even after everything, Howard still couldn't do something all on his own.

The main zoo was still a roaring shambles as Howard pelted out the door, a pounding roar coming from a large dark shape that sounded far too familiar.

"Bollo!" The ape froze and turned around.

"Howard –" he grumbled, but Howard wasn't going to stop for the usual remark, as happy as he would be to hear it – _anything_ - from the old gorilla he'd spent what seemed a lifetime with and then a lifetime apart, even if he remembered none of it.

"Vince – you have to help me, we have to get him out!"

That was all the gorilla needed, which was a good thing because Howard didn't say any more, he ran off back towards the 'secret lab' and Vince.

Each second seemed to scream at Howard as it passed by, thundering back the way he came again, past the janitors closet where Lance Dior was hidden, over the limp form of Harold Boom and then into the flickering dark and damp of the Secret lab – across the room to the shadows and Vince's unmoving form.

"There – in there, get him out. I can't find the key. There's no key."

Bollo needed no further instruction, he lumbered forward and Howard felt a strange warmth in his stomach, they'd never got on before, but the kinship he had with the gorilla now – joined in this mission to save the one person they both loved, was something alien and _nice._

There was a sudden roar and then the sound of metal screaming against metal and Bollo lurched backwards, the door between his monkey hands. But Howard didn't stop to congratulate the primate; all thought evaporated from his brain except one thing: Vince, and he rushed past, and pulled the small man close before the door had even hit the ground. He was cold to the touch and flopped like a rag doll in Howard's arms. A stab of panic took hold.

"Vince?" he called, pulling him as close as he could, so that the younger man was almost draped across him.

"Vince, come on. Vince? Open your eyes." He stayed limp and lifeless; a horrifying sight like a wilting flower and Howard was quick, on the verge of all out panic as he pressed a hand against Vince's neck. The beat under his fingers was small, but that thud-thud was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, as James _or_ Howard.

"Howard!" Naboo made his entrance similar to the way he'd done when Lance and Harold had dragged Vince off before: _after_ Howard could have used his help.

"Over here!" Naboo's sneakers squeaked on the stones as he crossed the room.

"He's real cold, Naboo," he said as the tiny shaman regarded them both for a second.

"Hold him close, yeah? Get his body heat rising," Naboo said, staring around the room.

"Bollocks," the tiny shaman swore after a second, hurrying across the room and picking up something Howard thought looked strangely like a record but couldn't see properly.

"Here, we got to feed him this," he said, coming back over to where Howard was cradling Vince in his arms.

"He'll be okay, wont he, Naboo?"

"We gotta get this down him, he should be okay then." Howard stared at the tiny white pill in Naboo's hand and then down at Vince cradled in his arms; he was freezing to the touch and the blank look on his face made Howard squirm. The tiny white capsule on Naboo's open palm didn't look like it would fix anything. Howard hadn't had Vince this close in six months – this was _Vince._ His Vince. They'd been apart for so long and now they were together, letting him go was the last thing he wanted to do – regardless of how cold he was and if that little pill was going to fix it, if Vince would open his eyes if they got that down him, then what could he say?

The panic in Howard's stomach lurched for a second as Naboo pulled out a small little bottle that looked suspiciously like one of Harrison's poppers and opened it under Vince's nose.

"What are you doing?" he asked, pulling Vince close to him, and out of Naboo's reach.

"Waking him up, you berk."

"With Harrison's stash?"

"No, you jerk off, it's scent of Jagger you muppet." Naboo frowned, and Howard made to apologise, but just at that moment Vince made a small sound and frowned and all thought evaporated from Howard's mind.

"Vince!"

"Mmmm," Vince murmured blinking and frowning.

"Swallow this," Naboo ordered shoving the white capsule into Vince's mouth then. Vince made a face, trying to figure out his surroundings.

"Swallow."

"Wah?" Vince asked groggily.

"Sherbet pill," Naboo said, face straight. Vince nodded, still stuck with a glazed look in his eyes. But the feel of him, the rise of his chest against Howard's was making Howard's stomach do pleased little summersaults. Vince was freezing, his limbs were limp and he was boneless, draped across Howard, but he was awake. It was the most beautiful sight Howard had ever seen. His heart clenched and the air caught in his lungs.

"Come on."

"Can you walk?"

"Bollo will carry Precious Vince," the ape grumbled.

"I'll walk," Vince mumbled groggily, trying to push himself to his feet. Howard stepped forward trying to help him to his feet but the smaller man pushed him away.

"Don't –" Vince murmured, holding up a hand to keep Howard at bay. Howard felt something jolt in his stomach, something almost painful. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing seemed to come out.

"Bollo, help Vince before he falls down," Naboo said in the small silence before Howard could speak, looking at Vince with Howard noticed, a fairly strange expression. The gorilla didn't need telling twice and immediately wrapped an arm around Vince, hoisting him to his feet.

"Lean on Bollo," he informed Vince, who nodded and offered the gorilla a soft smile that faded almost immediately. All Howard could do was watch on as Bollo helped Vince across the room, feeling entirely excluded.

It was slow going, but by the time they reached the main zoo amazingly the fight was still going, but seemed in its last stages; Naboo rushed forwards across the courtyard towards the other Shaman leaving Howard and Vince still leaning on Bollo staring at the various Shaman and Bainbridge's assorted lackeys that were running around after each other but with a tired air. Then there was a roar as Bainbridge came running out of a nearby corridor, the Stone hanging from Vince's chain in his fist and Saboo hot on his heels. It seemed a comical display of children's chasing games, without the knowledge Bainbridge had in his hands an object with the ability to destroy all human kind.

"M'Bainbridge!" Howard froze on the spot in front of Vince and Bollo as Bob Fossil came charging out of the corridor after Saboo and caught sight of his long denied affection. There were some things in life that were just impossible to change, impossible not to be transfixed in place by, unable to look away. The sight of Dixon Bainbridge freezing as Bob Fossil came tearing across the courtyard was one of them. The flicker of fear on his face was near priceless and the yell as they collided made everything stand still – except that is, the Stone that went flying out of Bainbridge's fist.

Howard watched as the Stone hit the ground, with a small chink of stone on stone, and just sat there for a moment, perfectly still, until it began to glow in the light of the full moon, now perfectly overhead and shining down on them all. It glowed ghostly green and caught the eyes of six people consecutively. Bainbridge lunged forward with a shout, scrambling to his feet amongst Fossil's limbs; Howard's eyes reached abnormal sizes as he lurched towards the contraption; Naboo and Saboo swore; Tony Harrison let out a caterwauling wail, and Vince watched, dumbfounded, as Bainbridge scrambled to the Stone first, and Howard, a second later, slammed into the older man. He must have been smiled on again by Lady Luck - Lady Fame's younger sister - as the Stone left Bainbridge's fingers for the second time in a minute and sailed across the ground to rest at Vince's feet. Vince looked down at it somewhat groggily. Howard couldn't hear a thing as he scrambled on the ground, but he knew he tried to yell at Vince to run – regardless of how weak his friend was. If Bainbridge reached him, regardless of Bollo, Vince would break like a twig. Bainbridge let out a strange grunt as he found his feet and then slammed a fist down on Howard's head and everything went strangely out of focus for a moment.

Seeing stars, Howard tried to hold onto Bainbridge but to no avail. The ex owner of the Zooniverse kicked out and made towards Vince and the asthmatic ape holding him above the ground.

"Turn the stone in it, Vince!" a lisping voice yelled and Howard found his feet fast enough to watch as Vince shrugged off Bollo and aimed the ridiculous looking contraption at an advancing Bainbridge and turned the stone. There was a blast of light and a horrible roar that made everyone stop, dead still, to watch as Bainbridge was absorbed into the light. Then the light vanished, taking Bainbridge with it. No one made a sound for a moment, shocked and unsure about what they had just witnessed, no one so much as Vince, who was staring at the Stone in his hands with glazed eyes.

"And that's why you never mess with Naboo," Naboo said sagely and the tension snapped. Bainbridge's lackeys immediately disbursed, all trying to get towards the exits, or standing with their hands in the air, afraid that they too were going to be sucked into the glowing rock still hanging in Vince's hand. Fossil sat up and whimpered, unsure about what he just seen, and what the hell was going on.

"Woo! Yeah!" Howard laughed, "Ow – chicka chicka!" He turned to face Vince intent to share the glee he was feeling. Vince; who was once again the saviour of the day; Vince who he had been apart from for months but felt like forever; Vince, who was blinking hard, swaying on the spot.

"Vince?" a small shout escaped Howard's lips as Vince's knees buckled.

"Catch him Bollo!" Naboo called and the gorilla caught him as he dropped, lifting the small man into his hairy arms and holding him close.

"Come on," Naboo said softly, bending down to pick up the stone from where it was dropped on the ground.

"Best be getting him home." Howard stared. It was an odd feeling. Nothing was really making much sense.

"Howard?"

"What just happened, Naboo?"

"We won, Howard."

Though the unsettled feeling in Howard's stomach; how Vince had shrugged him off; how he'd not yet met Howard's eyes; how at the sound of Howard's voice he seemed to weaken, all made Howard feel that they certainly hadn't won, not yet. There was more to come from this. They might have won against Bainbridge, but there was still a battle left for Howard and Vince, and odds weren't in Howard's favour.

"Pass him here," Howard said, climbing onto the carpet ten minutes later. Bollo frowned, but never-the-less he passed Vince's limp form to Howard before climbing back onto the carpet. The zoo was still filled with the noisy aftermath of whatever had just happened. Howard still wasn't sure what it was. Naboo was talking quietly to the Board of Shaman grouped around him – all except Harrison who was guarding Kirk in the empty Squid tank. Nothing was making sense, nothing seemed real; like a dream that should have ended but just kept going. The only thing that was real, that seemed to be holding him in this strange reality, was Vince.

The smaller man hadn't woken, or even stirred for a second, and nor had Bollo let anyone else touch him, in the time between Bainbridge's defeat and when Naboo ushered them onto the carpet. The fact that the ape had passed him over gave Howard the feeling he had been granted permission to hold something far more precious than anything else in the world. He clutched Vince close, feeling the weight of the smaller man against him, the feel of his breathing, the scent of his skin, taking it all to memory, taking _Vince_ to memory. And as Naboo finally finished talking and Dennis followed him to the carpet, Howard realised just how close Vince was, how soothing it was just feeling Vince in his grasp - a small thought chasing through the confusion clouding almost everything else; if this is what it was like to be touched, perhaps it wasn't so bad after all. Perhaps it was just Vince, but Vince had always been the exception to any rule, and he instinctively clutched him that little closer as they flew skywards.

^(*)^

The carpet came to a halt outside the Nabootique some time later with a jolt that made Howard swear, but Vince didn't even frown in his sleep. He was as lifeless as he had been before Naboo's miracle pill and a similar concern had returned to Howard's gut, churning.

"Bring him upstairs," Naboo was saying, the urgency of his words lost a little in the tiny lisp as the Shaman climbed off the carpet. But Howard was fuelled by his own fear and he rushed to obey. Trying to get to his knees, Vince's head lolled against Howard's neck, and a jolt passed through Howard as he felt the ever too tiny rush of air between Vince's lips. Everything seemed to disappear and suddenly he was Howard and Vince was holding _him_ close, nuzzled into his neck, black hair tickling his face and a tiny hitched breath on his skin. _"Howard –"_

"Pass to Bollo," the ape rumbled from solid ground, holding out his arms and snapping Howard from his reverie with a jolt that left him disorientated for a moment. Having Vince back, even as empty as he was, had left Howard with a strange jealousy, but he let the large primate take Vince out of his arms. The cool night air rushed in on him and Howard felt all of a sudden cold and horribly bare. The Dalston street outside the Nabootique was deserted, not that anyone would have blinked at the sight of a green woman and a man in feathers driving a flying carpet or a tiny shaman and a gorilla rushing into a flat that had been deserted for months.

"We will return to check on your friend," Dennis said, with a sympathetic nod, watching as Bollo headed for the flat, leaving Howard alone outside on the street.

"We have much to discuss yet with Naboo, but for now we have even more to fix. We have left Tony in charge, so we must hurry back. But good luck, to you and your wife, Howard Moon." Howard watched as the carpet rose high off the ground and sped higher towards the heavens almost as soon as Dennis had finished speaking.

Turning to face the Nabootique, Howard gulped. He wanted nothing more than to rush upstairs after Vince, and sit beside him, hold his hand and wait until he opened his eyes again. But being here, being back – back with Vince – the weight of the situation suddenly rushed up on him and the air caught in his throat.

For the last six months he had been apart from his best friend, they'd been separated for _months, _and now Vince was upstairs and they both knew who they were. They weren't Nate and James anymore, strangers drawn to each other by some unknown force. But at the same time they were – James was still a part of Howard, so surely Nate was a part of Vince. How could they go back when so much had happened? So much had been done. When they'd been apart so long.

Nothing would be the same, and all of a sudden Howard didn't want to go into the Nabootique at all. He wanted to stand in the middle of the street and stare at the giant building. He wanted to turn and run away and just keep running.

He wanted to run upstairs and take Vince back in his arms and never ever let him go again.

He didn't know what he wanted.

He wanted to make sense; he wanted to know who he was, James or Howard.

And then, looking up at the windows above the shop, he realised Dennis had called him Howard and the fog shifted a little. It still felt wrong, but in the same regard hearing someone else tell him who he should be – perhaps that was what he needed.

Letting out a jittering breath, Howard took a tentative step forward and then another after that, one step at a time, in through the open door, up the stairs, and then he was standing on the landing in the flat they'd been in just yesterday, and it felt crowded.

It was bright and bubbly and exactly how James remembered it, exactly how _Howard_ remembered it – right down to the sound of the Stones roaring from Vince's bedroom.

_Vince._

Crossing the room, ignoring everything nostalgic, he followed the sound and pushed open the door to Vince's room – _their _room.

Vince was laid out on his bed, stripped of the leather jacket and boots he'd been wearing all the time James had known him. Stripped of his skinny jeans Nate had bought and teased James with, and there, laid out on the sheets in his t-shirt and pants, as Bollo began heaping blankets down on him, drowning him in patchwork quilts, he looked far, far too small.

Howard stepped forward to try and get closer, only to have Naboo move into his path and swat him away on his way from the CD stand to the player where he had the Stones playing. Howard tried again, only to have Bollo do something similar, only with the ape he was set back about five paces to Naboo's one.

"Get out of the way, Howard." Naboo frowned, putting aside another CD.

Howard didn't reply. He couldn't look away from his best friend; the younger man laying wasted and pale against the bed sheets, blankets and duvets piled and pressed against him, smoothed out by Bollo as he added them. Howard wasn't sure, but he was hoping to God that all that padding was helping circulate Vince's blood, warming him up and not exactly roasting him like a Christmas goose.

"He's too cold," Naboo informed, but other than that Howard was completely unaware what was happening. That was perhaps what scared him most; he was so used to knowing absolutely nothing, but having Vince there with his constant babble had always been enough to give him some opinion on something, and distract himself from the knowledge they were in all likely-hood probably going to be banned, arrested, molested, framed or disgraced by the end of it. But this was a more serious situation and there was absolutely no chatter to distract Howard; Vince was quiet and still and that was the problem.

"What's wrong with him, Naboo?"

Howard looked at the tiny Shaman, trying to find something in the stony calm. Naboo was still as enigmatic as ever, the only difference was he wore a mask of stony indifference rather than stoned indifference.

Naboo frowned over at Bollo, where the ape was bopping his head along to Vince's heartbeat through the stethoscope still in his ears.

"Bollo, bugger off."

"Sorry," Bollo murmured, pulling the stethoscope out and patting down the top layer of Vince's bedding as shame faced as the gorilla could manage.

"Naboo?"

"He'll be okay, Howard."

"What did they do to him?"

"They tortured him," Naboo said, strangely with the same indifferent tone as before. Howard's mouth was open, gaping in shock.

"They – _tortured _him?" Howard was surprised the words escaped his mouth at all, even as strained as they were. He looked over at Vince and felt … nothing. Numb, as though the anger he knew he should feel was so acute he couldn't express it.

"Yeah, looks like a jazz box set to me," Naboo said wryly, stopping in the doorway. Howard snapped his mouth shut and frowned.

"You mean _jazz_ did this?"

"It was on the record player in the Secret Lab, Howard. That's why Harold was there not Lance. They were playing him Jazz – that's why we're trying to combat it now. That's what the sherbet pill was for."

"But – last time we had to go into his bloodstream to do that."

"Yeah, we can't do that again, Howard. There's too much Jazz in there. It's not one cell, it's making his own cells turn against each other. We just have to let them sort each other out."

"Jazz isn't that bad!"

"Seriously Howard, he can't take it. It _was_ torture, for Vince anyway. Since that last time, that Jazz cell fiasco, his system's weak. Can't stand it. So, you know, no Mingus to try and make him feel better. Righ'? We need to pump him full of things he likes – things that are Vince."

Things that were Vince.

Howard looked up, things that were Vince – Vince liked Mick Jagger and Bowie and Iggie Pop. He liked sparkle and glitter. He loved sugar and platform boots. He loved cartoons and his straighteners.

They had always been Vince.

And then, slowly, the thought rising almost unbidden to his consciousness – Vince liked Howard. Howard had been there almost as long as everything else.

A small smile rose on Howard's lips as he looked down at the smaller man. He was pallid and sickly, but already there seemed something less worrying about his appearance now that he was here, in his room with the purple and fuschia curtains, the posters of his idols on the wall and his overflowing cupboard. There was something about the constant stream of Mick Jagger telling them time was on their side that was comforting.

Howard smiled, kneeling by Vince's bedside and reaching into the covers to take Vince's hand, winding his fingers with Vince's limp ones as Naboo and Bollo closed the door behind them.

Allergic to Jazz. When Vince had first come up with that they'd been working at the zoo and it had just been part of an elaborate story; one involving a flamingo, a talking mushroom, three inch platform boots and the crazy old woman, Mrs Pelham, who lived next door and had a strange attachment to cats, old records and Vince. Then, as things changed, Vince's allergy to Jazz became more pronounced; when Howard had taken to playing jazz at night to sooth himself to slumber, Vince had started waking up with hives, and the time Vince's neck had gone all big and he couldn't wear his favourite necklace was one of many fiasco's filed under 'do not open' in the back of Howard's mind. But now it seemed, it was real. Perhaps Vince hadn't been dragging it out for all it was worth when Howard had destroyed the jazz cell, weaselling three days off after Howard had saved him, 'to recuperate'.

But now it seemed Vince really _was_ allergic to the wonderful art form. It had always been one of Howard's secret desires to get Vince to declare one of the genre's songs or even artists as 'genius' and give that mega watt smile, but now he'd never get the chance, forever doomed to have 'it's not as bad as that other rubbish. I wouldn't burn that one' as the best complement about the genre ever to sprout from the younger man's mouth.

"It'll be okay, Vince. I promise," he whispered, stroking his thumb across Vince's hand, and then as Vince shifted, his brow furrowing and a small keening sound coming from his parted lips. Howard smiled, truly believing his own words.

^(*)^

"How is he?" Naboo asked as Howard finally emerged from the bedroom.

"Still out of it."

"Yeah, he will be for a while. That sherbet pill was just a quick fix, and you an your scat singing went and short-wired it, didn't it." The smile slipped off Howard's face for a moment. Had it really been him?

"But he's okay?"

"He will be, trust me, I'm a Shaman." Howard nodded, sidling over to sit nervously on the hanging chair in the corner.

"What's going to happen, Naboo?"

Naboo stared at him for a moment.

"What are you asking me, Howard?"

"Us? Are we going to be okay? Me and Vince."

"Can't say that, Howard. You gotta see how it goes when he wakes up."

"But everything is just so _wrong,_ he's – we're not _us._"

Naboo simply watched him with an odd look on his face.

"_I_ rescued _him_! That's not how it works, I know that. I remember that! I'm the unlucky one, I get caught, I get killed or maimed or – or – It's always me! He's the lucky one, nothing bad happens to him!"

"And you're concerned because it appears the tables have turned?" Naboo was looking at him in a way that Howard vaguely remembered once or twice before, when in a fit of last resort he sought guidance from the tiny Shaman. Naboo was talking to him like a Psychiatrist.

"They have! He got caught! He got tortured! He wont look at me!" the last words came flying out of his mouth in a flurry of words bypassing all thought. He shut his mouth quickly, as though trying to keep the words back even though it was too late. It was a fear new to him, pushed far back into his brain so his conscious couldn't have heard it when it voiced up, trembling, as Vince pushed him away.

"_Let me go__.__" _

"He – he, back in the Lab, he didn't want me. He, he pushed me away. He wouldn't look at me."

Naboo's impassive face broke for a second and Howard saw the small Shaman frown.

"You gotta give him Time, Howard. He's been through a traumatic experience. His motor neurons are probably having a hard time catching up. Let him be, he'll be right as rain, you'll see." But all the same Howard had a sneaking suspicion Naboo wasn't saying everything.

He knew it was stupid, really, trying to figure out a short cut to the bliss they once had, or the normality he looked upon now with rose tinted glasses. He wanted the quick fix, and yet he knew that there was no such thing. It was going to be long and hard, there was so much to fix – they had two lives each, and he wasn't even sure which one Vince would choose, whether he really meant as much to Vince as it first appeared when the smaller man was running after him down the street.

But alarmingly, Howard realised he wasn't sure which life _he_ wanted either.

Howard or James? Could James still have Nate, or could he have Vince instead? Did Nate want James? Or could he stand Howard?

"Stop it, ya batty crease." Naboo's voice shattered Howard's reverie and only then did Howard realise he'd been holding tight to the skin on his left arm, not quite twisting it, but enough to cause the skin to flare, surely.

"Listen Howard, it'll be okay, yeah. Trust it. Trust me. Trust Vince," he said, getting up off the couch.

"Where are you going?"

"Gotta call Dennis, see what's happening. Might see if I can get my hands on Bainbridge's black market connections."

"Why would you want them?"

"They're worth a lot, Howard. All my contacts probably think I'm dead. Bloody jerk offs," Naboo grumbled, stalking off to his bedroom. Howard peered down at his wrists where the skin was flaring a little red. He was definitely feeling more _Howard_ as time went on, that was for sure.

"Howard." He jumped as Bollo's grumble interrupted his thought. The gorilla was standing between the couch and Naboo's bedroom where the Shaman had disappeared.

"Howard trust Precious Vince. Bollo not understand but Precious Vince trust Howard. He wait for him. Knew he would come."

"Thanks Bollo." He smiled, a little shocked by the gorilla's words.

"Ballbag," the gorilla grumbled, half hearted as though he was saying it only to keep up old acquaintance.

"What happened, Bollo? How did you get out? You distracted them – you started it all. How? You didn't even know we were there." The ape looked if anything a little pleased, as though he wasn't sure anyone would care what had happened to him in the Zooniverse. Howard wasn't even sure Naboo had told the ape how much he had missed him. As long as it had been, Howard wasn't sure Bollo knew how much he meant to them all – he was as much a part of their family as any one else. As human as he was, it was hard to remember that he was an ape and couldn't understand the way things worked sometimes.

"Bollo held in cage. Watched by other gorilla. Umbrollo, he impersonate Bollo. Make fun of Bollo's haircut, insult precious Vince. So Bollo break down door and thump him, way Chinco taught him. Precious Vince need rescue – Bollo try, did not want to wait for Harold. Naboo there so Bollo stay to help little Shaman."

"You're a good man, Bollo."

"Bollo used to be Man, Bollo gorilla now. Idiot," Bollo murmured, lumbering off and leaving Howard on the couch feeling rather stupid and then sheepish before he abandoned the empty main living room for Vince's again, needing the solace of Vince's soft breathing that nothing else seemed to be able to provide, trapped on a precipice that only Vince could save him from.

All he needed to do was wake up.

^(*)^

Waking up was like struggling to swim to the surface when you start half way down with nothing to push off from, a fact heightened by the fact Vince hadn't gone swimming in about ten years. It was a disorientating breach into open air and vague sunlight, the sound of David Bowie's life on mars rattling around the room, a fitting song, considering the weight and absurdity of the situation. His head felt thick, like it was half full of cotton wool, and each pound of his heart seemed to reverberate through _all_ of him, and it hurt.

Barely able to move from how many blankets were piled on top of him, it took a moment for blind panic to subside and to realise everything was still there, and was still his and he was _alive_. Only then did he realise, undermined by the music and the pain, was the soft inhale and exhale of the man dosing right beside him, his head of messy curls so close if Vince could have moved his hand through the blankets he could have lost his fingers in them without having to move. With a gasp he pulled himself onto his arms, pushing to a half slumped sitting position. Howard stirred as the bed shook, Vince bit his lip. He wasn't sure he wanted Howard to wake up, he was sleeping, his face blank and almost peaceful if it wasn't for the crease in his brow. If they stayed like that then he could pretend nothing had happened, he could be Nate and Howard could still be James and things would be weird, but good – or he could be Vince and Howard could be Howard and things would be – what would they be? He bit down harder on his lip. He didn't _know_ what they were with Howard. What did Howard want? He was here, and he hadn't been there before – he'd gone, run away, and yet he'd rescued him, Vince, he'd rescued him and he'd come back here, to the Nabootique with him. He was sitting here on the bed waiting for him to wake up and yet … Howard had left him. Walked away, _left_ him behind, _forever._ He'd said _goodbye._ And in Vince's history goodbye meant forever.

"H-Howard?" he asked, shakily. Testing.

Howard jerked awake, small eyes snapping open as he sat bolt upright, blinking for a second as if he didn't believe the sight in front of him. He looked so comical doing it the old Vince would have laughed. But he didn't feel like Vince, he didn't feel like Nate either. He was … lost. And he didn't think he had the ability to laugh.

"Vince!" a shaky laugh escaped the elder man's lips as he took in what he was seeing. Vince watched it escape, watched how the air tickled the hairs on Howard's upper lip, how his small eyes creased even tighter, like they were trying to pull those tiny peepers back into Howard's head.

"You're awake!" Howard was here, Howard was standing by the side of his bed, sounding for all the world like he was genuinely happy Vince was awake. Vince's heart sunk; he was happy _now_ but surely when he, Vince, got up, when his legs were strong enough to support him in those trademark heeled boots, Howard would turn his back on him and leave. He'd go back to being James; back to the regular stint in the jazz club, where people came to see _him_, back to the flat and the friends and the white shirts and almost-stylish for a blind man coats. He'd go back to James; he'd leave the beard and he'd be rugged and manly and un-Howard. He'd go back to Brent and leave Vince. Vince closed his mouth, he was cold, but he wasn't altogether sure whether that had anything to do with Bainbridge or more to do with the seemingly elated Northerner at his bedside.

"Yeah," he managed to croak, feeling his tongue form the words. It felt odd, but Vince let the words echo around his brain for a second before he tried them out loud.

"You're here," he said and a flicker of something flashed across Howard's eyes. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Of course I'm here. Why would I be anywhere else?"

"Why?"

"I helped rescue you! – I had to get you back."

"So you could leave again?"

"What?"

"You're leaving again, aren't you?"

"Vince –"

"No! Are you leaving again?" Howard stumbled, his eyes rolling fast in his head as he struggled to find the words.

"Cause I don't want you here, _James,_ if you're just gonna leave again."

"Vince, it's me, it's Howard – remember all the good times we - "

"No. Don't say that unless you mean it. Don't say you're Howard unless you _are._ I don't want you here if you're just gonna leave again, cause I can't stand that." His mouth snapped shut, his heart forgetting its recent promise to clear everything first.

"Leave again?" Howard looked surprised, shocked and strangely a little ashamed. But Vince didn't care, there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't control, some slick anger that made everything the Northerner say make Vince want to hit him.

"_'I want you to split me and Vince up, Naboo'_" He mocked in his best, but still horrible, imitation of a Northern lilt.

"What?"

"You left me, Howard! It weren't Naboo! It was you!" Howard blanched; Vince could see him trying to figure something out in his head, small eyes flickering back and forth.

"No – no it was Naboo, Naboo said we had to leave."

"Yeah, Naboo said WE had to leave, YOU were the one who left without ME! You left me, Howard; an you didn't even have the guts to tell me! You used Naboo! You're a coward!"

"No." Howard shook his head, almost defiantly, and something rose in Vince's chest. It quickly deflated though. He had to do this, he couldn't handle Howard's instability, not now, not when each time he breathed he could almost hear the broken shards of his heart among other organs jangling around in his empty chest cavity.

"You turned your back on me, you ran off, _twice,_ and I can't stand that. I get it, yeah? I get that you ran off to _be_ happy and you got it. I don't care if you're happier there, alright?" he stopped for a second, staring at Howard whose eyes were wide as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The fight went out of Vince and the words were slow and soft as he kept going. "If you're happy being James then be James. Just don't stand there and pretend you care, alright?" his shoulders slumped forward, he felt almost like a marionette all of a sudden, a broken puppet whose strings were frayed and close to snapping of their own volition, and when they did he was just going to crumple.

"Pretend I care, Vince –"

"No. If you're gonna leave, if you're gonna be James, if you're gonna turn your back on me, then do it. Go now. You've already done it twice; I don't think I can stand a third time if you don't do it now. I don't know why you even rescued me when you're so sure I'm a nutter who's not good for you." He braved a look into Howard's face, at those wide surprised eyes, and felt sick.

"Vince –"

"No." He shook his head, he wasn't yelling, he _wanted_ to. He wanted to scream it, but he just didn't have the energy. It was just 'no'. He was saying that word a lot, but it was just impossible not to, he didn't know what else to say. He had to stop Howard from saying anything that meant too much, because if he said something, just something small, if he called him Little Man then Vince had no chance. He simply had to do it, had to cut him off before he could feel his limbs properly and realise one was missing; he had to give it time to heal before he felt its absence.

"You're happy, yeah?"

"Vince."

"_James. _You're happy, yeah?"

"Yes." It was nothing more than a whisper, but it still hurt to hear it. The words formed on Vince's tongue and he took a breath before he said them.

"Then go."

"Vince –"

"Go."

"Please –"

"Just leave – alright? Just go! GO!" he could hear the tear in his own voice, and the pitying look in Howard's small peepers said that there was no chance he missed it, even the flat seemed to have felt it.

Howard turned, and, as Vince pushed himself up defiantly on his pillows, cast a timid glance back at him. Their eyes met for a second and Vince felt like he was going to be sick, right then and there, but then Howard cowered under his gaze and left the room, closing the door behind him. Vince held fast for only a moment after the door clicked and then he fell back against the covers, his small body shaking as he pressed his hands to his eyes, feeling the unwanted tears roll from beneath his lashes regardless.

It was best to do it now, before it _really_ hurt, before he let Howard comfort him back to health, before he remembered what it really felt like to be the jazz maverick's friend; he had to do it now, but it still hurt. God damn did it hurt.

^(*)^

Despite how Vince was curled up in himself in the next room the flat was still shaking with the power of his outburst, and for a moment Howard almost felt the flat itself sigh in resignation.

"Howard, you berk, what've you done?" Naboo scowled from where he was standing by the stove.

"Harold jerk off," Bollo grumbled, as he turned to click the kettle on and set about putting four sugars in a cup and Jaffa cakes on a plate.

"I – he – but – I."

Nothing seemed to come out.

"He, but – we."

"_I'll do what I must, Howard."_

"_Please?"_

_  
"Alright."_

He stopped. That had happened, but still, he'd kept the rest of it hidden away from himself. Stopped himself from feeling the guilt. He'd left Vince. He knew it now. The look in Vince's eyes couldn't be anything other than absolute certainty. Vince had remembered, Vince had remembered everything before he had – because Vince had wanted to remember. He'd wanted what he had, what Barry and Naboo and Bainbridge and he, _Howard_ had taken away from him.

"I left him, didn't I Naboo?" the words were soft, and he looked up at the Shaman before he answered, Naboo's eyes seemed to answer before he spoke.

"Yeah, you did."

"He heard."

"I know."

"What should I do?" Naboo was quiet for a moment, nobody moved.

"Were you happy here?"

Howard opened his mouth ready to speak, but then stopped. _Was_ he happy here? His immediate impulse was yes, yes, _yes._ But then he couldn't. He closed his mouth. Once upon a time, yes, he'd been happy, _once_. But in the months preceding whatever this was he hadn't exactly been _happy_. He'd been comfortable, and in a spur of irrationality he'd decided he didn't want comfortable.

But what did he want now? Was he _happy_ being _Howard_?

The silence made his decision for him.


	9. What we used to be

AN: I am SO sorry for the long wait on this. But this is the chapter that took me forever and a day to finish. Last one should be up soon, but dont actually count on that. :)

Thanks to everyone who's been reading this, it's been a along labour of love and it's nearly over. Cheers. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own any recogniable characteristics in this story. I own the plot, everything else belongs to Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding and Baby Cow.

**Chapter Nine**

**What we used to be**

_I'm searching for answers  
not questioned before.  
The curse of awareness,  
there's no peace of mind._

A Dangerous Mind

Within Temptation

The flat that belonged to James Fountain was one that Howard really quite liked; brown walls with mounted records of distinction, a tasteful leather couch that although worn was really rather comfortable and a substantial bookcase filled with books which Howard couldn't remember reading, but knew James had read at least a couple. The flat was situated above a record store, and moody saxophones were fading up through the floorboards when Court let him in. She seemed to know where more things were than he did, the fact that _Howard_ still had such precedence over his mind left him with a sour taste in his mouth. After all, he'd chosen James in which to be. Or rather, Vince had told him to choose James … and standing in James' flat, in James clothes with James' best friend he felt rather out of place.

"You'll fit right in soon enough," Court said quietly, switching on the kettle. That was comforting, that despite _who_ he was tea still fixed everything.

"I'll get Naboo to fix it." _Fix me._

"You sure you want to, though? I mean," Court stopped and turned to look at him, "you're still so James even now, when you're, err Howard." She moved over to him and straightened his coat. A small pang rippled through his chest. Nate did that, _Vince_ did that, did it all the time; whenever they went out together, as rare as it had become and then as frequent and nervous. Vince would always stand right in front of him, straighten his coat, play with his collar, cough, and then look tentatively through his lashes up at Howard for a moment before he'd harden, and they'd be off in the wake of clicking heels and shining accessories.

"There's so much that overlaps, Howard." It was amazing how understanding she was, how calm she was about everything. Howard had spent a rather panicky hour or so hiding in the store cupboard while Naboo talked to Court in the flat above, and Bollo kept Vince company along with a rather noisy group including David, Mick and Iggy. In the end Court had come down to the shop and found him, sorting out the pens into immaculately spaced trees and she'd simply looked at him, an odd glazed expression, that had made him worry Naboo had drugged her for a while until she'd smiled, just a curt little upturn of her lips and her eyes had smiled too and she'd nodded.

"You're still there," she'd said, and Howard had nervously stood on the spot waiting for something else to be done or said, like they were crazy – but she'd just smiled and then held out her hand. He took it nervously and she'd run her fingers across it, as if she was thinking, and then she'd looked up into his eyes and said it again. "You're still there." It had been odd, nerve wracking. He knew she was talking to James, but then he wasn't sure what to think anymore. "I understand, I think," she'd whispered then, hugging a very fence post like Howard until all of a sudden he really grasped that _she understood_, and then he hugged her back, driven by a strange longing far more distant than _Howard's_ voice had been when James had been in control.

"I feel disjointed," he murmured now, sitting on his couch with the entirety of James' life staring down at him, screaming at him that he wasn't right, that he had no right to be there.

"You don't have to separate it."

Howard frowned, and Court nodded, going back to making the tea.

"You're still two teabags and milk, right?" she laughed.

"Mmmm," Howard replied, rubbing his hands through his hair.

^(*)^

Vince wasn't sure whether being confined to the bed because of a tiny Shaman forbidding him from getting up, or from his own sheer inability to stand up properly, was more annoying. Even worse was the cloying feeling of guilt and regret he couldn't escape.

It had been torturous the few hours he'd been awake, screaming at Howard until he was fit to burst, telling him to get out – and then knowing that Howard was out in the flat torn half to pieces as only Howard could be - that had been horrible. Hearing him move around outside the door, tempted to come back in and try again, that had been even worse. But as sick as Vince had felt, it had been even worse coupled with that guilt. Guilt that not even good intentions could swathe. And as bad as it had been it had got worse when Bollo had come lumbering in and told him that Court was there; there to take Howard away.

"_My life was going all right up 'til now_" [Iggy Pop – I need more] Iggy crooned out of the speakers and Bollo shuffled a little on the bed, trying not to make it obvious but making the whole bed shake.

"Change it," Vince croaked and Bollo made the bed move again as he raised the remote and changed the song. Mick, Mick never takes the piss – "_Don't you know that I love you –" _

"Change it."

He almost knew that he would need to say those same instructions again and again as the words slipped from his tongue.

There was nothing Bollo could do that would change the fact that Howard was on the other side of Vince's postered prison preparing to leave because of him, and all Vince could do was taste the Northerner on his tongue, feel his hands on his shoulders, smell him in his nostrils; play over and again the feeling of James against him, kissing him. And then remember it was _James_ kissing _Nate_ and neither of them were either anymore and Howard had left Vince behind six months ago and then everything would rush back - Howard was going to leave him again, only this time _he_ told him to leave and nothing could make the situation any better at all. All he could hear was the sound of Howard's voice breaking them apart, and the look on James face as he smiled like there was nothing holding him down; smiling in a way Vince had yet to see Howard do in years.

As strong as the feeling he was drowning was, as painful the guilt and the anger – the small voice in the back of his head was the smallest, barely audible, but it was the one he chose to focus on, telling himself was all for the best. It didn't stop him wanting to be sick though – at all. It was cloying and disgusting and he had to stop himself from crying – every time a door slammed he'd tense and feel Bollo's eyes on him. The ape never left and Vince wasn't sure whether it was because of his friends need to protect him, or because Naboo had told the ape not to leave him alone. Either way Vince wasn't sure whether he was glad the ape was still there or not. He didn't really feel there himself, like half waking half dreaming and then he was floating somewhere in the stars and then he could hear nervous footsteps outside his door and he'd be back on earth and tense like a board and Bollo would turn the CD up like it was going to help, y_ou're watching yourself but you're too unfair. You got your head all tangled up but if I could only make you care. Oh no love! You're not alone…[rock and roll suicide – david bowie]_

But for all the lyrics in the world, for all the meanings and all the people, alone was certainly what he felt and the worst thing was it was his own fault. _  
_

But it wasn't _for_ him, and that's what stayed his tongue and had him waiting for Howard to walk past. It's what kept him still and quiet and sure, so, so desperately sure that he was doing the right thing when Naboo called Bollo out. Then two minutes later the ape came back and turned the CD up another notch, but not enough to drown out the sound of the shop door closing for what Vince knew was the final time and the silence in the rest of the flat as Howard Moon left forever.

^(*)^

Howard stared at the tiny Shaman standing three metres away, by the ramshackle camping table in their kitchen.

"What's going on, Naboo?"

"We have to leave."

"Yeah, we got that much, Naboo. What's going on?" Vince, trusty Vince, stepping up to the mark. He stood up from where he was splayed out on the couch, standing in line with Howard, right next to him. Howard could smell strawberry shampoo and that fake sourness from Vince's sweets. He closed his eyes and let it waft for a second.

"It's my mate Barry. He's sent me something, something bad. You two have to leave, we all do."

"Why? What is it?"

"Yeah, Naboo – you can't just tell us to leave without good reason."

"Why not? My flat, my shop – "

"Yeah – but," Howard faltered for a second. "What about reasonable dismissal –"

"It's beyond that, Howard. You could die if you don't leave."

"Die – whoa there!"

"W-what? Naboo? What's all this about? We aint done nothing."

"It's dangerous. Barry's sent me something. I'm gonna need you two to help me hide it. We all gotta leave. It's something from Xooberon and if someone finds out it's here they're gonna do anything to get it. _Anything._"

Howard stared down at Vince, who was looking up at him, bottom lip between his teeth.

"Howard?"

"What are we going to do, Naboo?"

"We gotta disappear. Me and Bollo are gonna go somewhere, Spain or something. Rudy and Spider are up there somewhere. I'll make you forget, make you disappear – no one will know."

^(*)^

"I can make you forget."

Howard stared.

It was like someone up above had given him this way out, this answer to Vince's wish; he had the opportunity to give Vince what he wanted – a life free of Howard Moon. Howard cast a guilt look over at Vince, the smaller man rummaging around in a drawer for something or other. His lip was caught between his teeth and it was strange to see, the look telling Howard the smaller man's mind was a million miles away, intent on finding something. He was beautiful, his hair wasn't styled so much today, or perhaps styled more than usual, thick and full at the top, curling into his fringe, it feathered more around his cheeks, and his eyes seemed rounder, bluer, or perhaps it was just Howard finally looking at him properly for the first time in a long time – after so long living on a memory of what Vince looked like, the prim hair and the over darkened eyes, smudged kohl, lip gloss and vacuous amounts of hairspray. He'd been living with normality for so long he had forgotten how beautiful Vince really was, how entrancing he was, he'd forgotten what the truth was.

_Sometimes I think it would be easier if I'd never met him, the giant jazz addled tit..._

He'd known what Vince looked like for so long he'd stopped looking, and now, now when there was this sudden way out, a doorway into something else, now there was the opportunity to forget him, to _erase_ him, he needed to see every part, remember every touch every smell, every smile, every frown, every sneer, every shout – every kiss, every caress, every fight –

He had to take everything with him before he lost all of it.

"Howard?" Howard jumped as Vince broke through his reverie.

"Mmmm?"  
"You seen my glitter box?" Vince wasn't looking at him as he said it though – he was rummaging in the cupboards, dislodging Howard's precious collectables.\

"It's on your dresser," he murmured, watching as Vince jumped to his feet with a grin and an 'oh yeah, cheers!' and then disappeared. Howard stared after him. He could feel Naboo watching him, the silence stretching, only to be combated by the sounds of Bollo rummaging around in the loft, and Vince toiling through his own endless mounds of junk.

"Can you really make us forget?" Howard looked over at the tiny Shaman as he said it and watched, intrigued, as a strange flicker of emotion crossed Naboo's features.

"Yeah, you muppet."

"We won't remember anything about this place? Anything at all?"

"You been talking to Saboo about the quality of my work?"

"No, no – it's just." He looked over at Vince's door and gulped. It could only be better for them. For them both. Vince would be happy – he could start again.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, Naboo?"

"What about you twit? I've got a lot to do; we have to get out of here."

Howard nodded and guiltily followed the shaman into his bedroom.

"What do you want you jazz muppet?"

Howard took a deep breath. It was always so different voicing the words that echoed in his head; they always sounded so much better inside.

"But we are friends, right Naboo?"

"Howard, I'm doing this to stop you getting killed, you idiot." Naboo rolled his eyes and began rummaging through his bottles and jars again, searching for something Howard had never heard of but probably almost consumed at one stage or another. It was a good thing he had his back turned, because the words felt hot on Howard's tongue and yet if his friend was facing him Howard knew he would never say them. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second and remembering those words he'd overheard, words spoken in full confidence and yet so blatantly broken. Words that ultimately left him standing right here, trying to work up the courage to give Vince the best thing he could: what he wanted.

"IwantyoutosplitmeandVinceup."

There was a second's silence as if Naboo was trying to figure out what he'd just heard and when he turned around the look on his face said the exact same thing. It was like he was waiting for Howard to say something else, to follow with some joke or quiff about some arthouse director he'd never heard of. But there was nothing, Howard was breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest like it wanted to burst out of his chest.

"Say it again, you Ballbag, and slowly." Howard took a long breath and fixed his eyes on the shaman, his tongue felt thick and useless and yet he forced it to comply, forming the words once again, forcing spaces between them so that they conformed to their natural state, separate and yet combined creating beauty in their togetherness, in their structure and devastation in their meaning.

"I want you to split us up."

"What? _Why_ you muppet?"

"I, I can't do it any more, Sir. I can't handle this anymore. All of it. I just – I need to get away, and this is the best thing to do. He won't even remember me, right? You said you'd make us forget. Make him forget! You can just make him forget me."

Naboo stared for a moment, completely nonplussed and for a brief second Howard could have sworn he saw something like compassion on his face, like the Shaman might even have cared.

"It's not that easy, Howard."

"Please, Naboo. I have to take this chance. It's too hard otherwise. I could never do it. But I have to. We've been together too long, and it's too hard and I can't stay. I don't want to remember leaving him. Please, Naboo."

Naboo was silent and just _staring_ and Howard could barely stand it. It had gone too long now, gone too far. He couldn't just take it back, but if they loitered any longer there was risk of Vince finding them – of overhearing and then Howard would never be able to live with himself.

"Please."

The shaman frowned, and Howard tried again. There was only so much begging even the tiny Shaman could handle, surely.

"Please Naboo."

"I'll do what I must Howard." Naboo sighed, giving in. Howard nodded, feeling the weight of what he had just done fall on his shoulders. It was the right thing, it would be better for them both, in the end. It would all work out in the end. But before that there was more he had to do.

"Can you do something else, Naboo?" He asked softly. Watching Naboo's face, waiting for something like anger to flit across it, nothing did, it was once again strangely blank – even more strange now things were so... unhinged. It was like hanging off the roof by the tips of your fingers. Howard forced down the bile creeping up the back of his neck.

"What?"

"Tell him it's your idea."

"Are you high?" In any other situation Howard would have snapped back, he would have fought but already1 there was a sinking feeling of surrender climbing through Howard's system, his cowardice taking another form.

"I can't do it, Naboo! It'll just – I. I can't." He didn't mean for it to sound as _tired_ as it did, and perhaps Naboo saw it too. They were both quiet for a moment; they'd gone this far, they couldn't stop here and they both knew it. They both knew it would destroy Howard's intent if Vince knew it was Howard separating them. It would ruin them completely. He wanted to save them – not break them completely. He needed something nice to remember before it all ended and nothing was right ever again. He needed to escape as much guilt as he could.

"On one condition, Howard."

"What? Tell me."

"You're the one who tells him you're being split up. Blame it on me, but you tell him."

Dammit. A rise of panic rose in howard and he was about to protest until he saw the look in Naboo's face. Punishment. I don't like what you're doing but I'll do it.

"Alright," and that was that. It felt strange, that single word being the seal on so much, the final agreement on unravelling everything they had been working towards for the last thirty four years. Everything.

It felt unreal, and walking back out into the main room something lodged in Howard's throat as he saw Vince. The smaller man stacking and unstacking a pile of cd's. Howard didn't say a thing, suddenly struck by the fact this was one of the last times he was going to see the smaller man.

"What, Howard?"Howard jumped as Vince's voice echoed across the room. He didn't even turn around.

"I, err - I have to go –" he murmured.

"I know, Howard. Naboo told us, I was there. I'm trying to pack, honest." His voice sounded strange but the sound of Naboo's shoes behind him made Howard jump and the words shoot out of his mouth before he could think over them much further.

"No, Vince, I'm going. Alone. We have to split up." Vince set down the CD he was holding very slowly, disturbingly precise. It clicked as it met the other plastic and they were both silent for a moment, staring at the cd in the pile and then slowly Vince turned around.

"Why?" Vince finally said, "We've always been together, Howard." Vince's voice quavered and then grew more earnest as he spoke. "Why are we splitting up now?"

"Naboo, said -" Howard stopped, he had to do this. The thought revolved around and around in his head, dizzy circles that was so out of place he wasn't sure what he was doing for a second as he took a deep breath in and reached out, tentatively touching Vince on the shoulder. The smaller man looked surprised for and second and then almost pained as he looked at it and then, slowly back up at Howard.

It almost killed as the words slipped from Howard's tongue.

"We can't."

"Why not? Howard, why?"

"I'm sorry, Vince." Vince looked away, his bottom lip caught firmly between his teeth and he closed his eyes for a second. Howard waited and then Vince opened his eyes and took one last look at Howard and then threw off his hand and almost tripped over himself getting down the stairs, getting away from Howard.

He swallowed hard as Naboo looked at him with a gleam in his eyes that specifically asked whether he was going to go after Vince, but Howard couldn't find his voice. There was a coldness in Vince's eyes that he didn't understand, a ... hollowness to him that scared Howard and even with _Vince_ being in some form of distress, Howard couldn't make himself go after him – he had to do this, he was doing this for them, for Vince. But his fingers still itched, wanting to reach out and touch the smaller man, his feet wanted to go after him and that knowledge scared him – it had been so long since he'd wanted to follow after Vince. It had been a long time since the smaller man had gone anywhere Howard could have tred, and longer still since Howard would have followed regardless.

"I can't," he murmured, looking at Naboo and trying to make him understand, he had to, to some degree – otherwise there was no chance he'd have even contemplated it, surely? Would Naboo have removed him from everyone's memories if he'd asked? Howard's stomach sank when 'yes, gladly' floated to the front of his brain without thought.

"You should tell him the truth," Naboo said, folding his arms and staring at Howard.

"I can't."

"You won't, there's a big difference, oh Xooberon you'd be executed."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind next time I'm over there."

"There won't be a next time, after this. This is forever, Howard. No turning back."

"Then why have I got a word to break the spell?"

"Fine print."

Howard glared at the tiny shaman, but his gaze never wavered.

"He won't miss me,"

"That's part of the plan, isn't it, you berk. He won't know who you are, you know full well if I weren't wiping your memories he'd be in a right foul mood and come after you," and he would, in six inch platforms and a cape, never one for backing down from anything, taking the simple route, and Howard wouldn't have it any other way.

This was the only way to give them both what they needed, regardless if they wanted it.

He had to be the bad guy this time, he had to finish their own work and break them apart before they held on forever and wound up resenting each other for it... already so close, so warped and unstable and yet still so unquestioning. They'd been up and down and around the bend. They'd been together and apart, at home and abroad, shared a bed and a bedroom and shared the floor, they'd shared hope and danger and adventures and quiet days. They'd shared friends and almost family. They'd shared each other's lives like extra limbs and it was a shared kiss that threw everything out of focus; the first one dismissed, the second a mistake – an accident, a fully intended attempt at something they'd been dancing around for years and years and both wanted and not wanted at once and not at all that had backfired.

"He loves you,"

Howard stared at the tiny shaman with his mouth open.

"I – he, we – "

"And it's pretty obvious you feel the same, you twat, but you're both so intent on mucking it all up. You're thick berks." Naboo was frowning as he walked around Howard and headed down the stairs.

"Think about it, you twat."

Howard stared after Naboo, the desire to follow him down the stairs and find Vince himself reared up and he reached the landing before he changed his mind again and turned around, facing the flat. It was still so full of life, and yet at the same time it was so resigned, like it too knew and understood his decision. They had to understand, Naboo – Vince – they _had_ to, it was for them, anyway. They'd be better off, they had to be – anything was better than here, this place that had soured them all – even Naboo. They used to be friends, and yet now... Howard wasn't sure. He loved Vince, there was a large part of him that couldn't dispute that and yet he wasn't sure what _type_ of love that was. It had always been there, this part of him he'd tried to express once before and been laughed at, that he'd tried to explain and been dismissed. An emotion that he didn't understand and yet couldn't live without – had it soured too? Howard looked up as Bollo lumbered in from the loft, carrying a collection of books under his arm and a Woolworths bin in one hand.

"Bollo."

"Harold," the gorilla mumbled, shuffling past and Howard felt something deflate inside of him and something else rise up, part despair part anger. Was that all he was ever worth? A nobody to be eternally overlooked and mistaken, the fool no one remembered and the one blamed for any and every misdemeanour within range. What had ever happened to condemn him to this life? To this punishment? What could he possibly have to counterbalance such ill fortune? And then, like out of a corny movie his eye drew to the painting on the wall, the crude VN scratched in the paint as it dried. Vince, for all his bad luck he'd always had Vince, Vince to get him out of whatever mess they'd been in, Vince to make the mess worth it, Vince to make the boring moments exciting, the dark moments light and yet now... Howard closed his eyes. What were they now? They were stuck, they were broken, the sunshine kid was stormy and it was his fault. He owed it to Vince to repay the gesture, to give him what he needed – and Vince needed freedom. The turned down corners of his mouth when he thought no one was looking always seemed testament. Things were wrong and if it was up to him to fix it then he would. It was for the best he repeated in his head as he heard Naboo on the stairs.

"Say goodbye."

Howard looked up. The tiny shaman was standing on the landing, his face stony and Howard knew he had no choice, Naboo wasn't going to back down at all.

Howard nodded, getting up and taking the long walk down the stairs. It was like walking the green mile, his mind kept throwing up images of him and Vince, earlier days, happier moments – smiles, laughter, banter and the feel of his lips on his, the tiny sigh whispered from Vince's lips to his own, the feel of his skin under his touch, the smell of him so close underpinning everything and then he was standing in the doorway of the Nabootique and Vince was five feet in front of him and looking terrified and all Howard could see was the hurt in his eyes, the hurt that had entered the moment Howard had pulled away, the moment he'd told Vince to forget what they'd just done – the morning after when he'd pretended it had never happened... the look in his eyes as Vince had yelled at him, screamed his name until he was hoarse and asked why, why, _why _and all Howard could see was the look in his mother's eyes as his father had left them, the way his mother had looked when she reached for the bottle and never came out, the look on his Grandmother's face when he'd visit every weekend because his mother was too drunk to look after him. The same glazed look his mother always had creeping into Vince's face as the smaller man had taken to reaching for the liquor as well. All Howard could feel was the guilt and a tiny spark of hope that doing this would _save_ Vince. He was doing it for them, for Vince, he was doing it to stop the look of terror on Vince's face ever darkening him again.

"I'm, err – I'm ready to go," he murmured, shuffling on his feet. It was inconsequential but he couldn't think of anything else to say. Vince didn't say a thing, he just continued to stare at him and Howard swallowed. He looked so lost; always one to wear his heart on his sleeve, his emotions across his face. He was honest in everything he did, not always truthful, but honest in his lies – so obvious in them.

Howard cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. He needed to be strong, they both needed it.

"I just came down to say – "

"Why're we doing this, Howard?" Vince spoke so suddenly, so quickly like if he didn't say it then it wouldn't be said at all. Howard faltered. What could he say? What truth would make this any easier? I'm doing it for you? For us? Because I'm scared of you? Because I'm scared _for_ you? Because we're a mistake and I can't stand the thought of hurting you?

"Because it's for the best." Naboo's words sounded so wrong on his tongue and they hung in the air silent for a second until once again Vince spoke up.

"But is it? How do you know?" his eyes so wide, so pleading, the words silent on his tongue but screaming in Howard's mind; _Tell me, please. Tell me_.

"It's what you wanted."

Vince's eyes clouded for a second and Howard watched the confusion and anger bubble right to the surface and into the air. He was so vibrant, always so _alive_. He had the right to live it, to use it. He needed to – for the both of them.

"What _I_ wanted? Where'd you get that from?" His voice squeaked with indignation just like it had back at the zoo – there was nothing hidden beneath the surface anymore, no barely hidden self lies, so secrets or peer pressure, it was all fierce beautiful emotion.

"You."

"Me?"

Vince stared, dumbstruck and he looked so much like the Vince of old Howard barely held back a sad smile. How long did he have? Did it matter? He wouldn't remember any of it anyway. By the end of the day Howard Moon would cease to exist – not that he really existed to begin with, he'd only ever existed with Vince and the thought struck him so quickly he panicked.

"I have to go."

"No, Howard – " the distress so plain on Vince's face made Howard's stomach clench and he took a step backwards.

"I have to."

"Why?"

"I told you. _You._ This is what _you_ wanted. You said it would be easier if I wasn't here. You'd be able to understand if I wasn't there. This is what you wanted. This is for you."

"For _me? _Howard, you dill! I don't want this – I want _you!_"

"I can't – you don't want that. You think you do, but you don't." _I'm no good for you, no good. You're better off without me. _

"Howard – "

"Don't make this any harder, Vince." Vince closed his mouth, his lip caught between his teeth . He looked so lost, so unsure and once again Howard felt a rise of guilt and couldn't stand looking at everything he'd ever had and everything he was throwing away.

"I have to go."

Vince bowed his head and Howard stared at the head of black hair hiding those large blue eyes. He was thankful, really. He could never really stand meeting Vince's eyes, so open, so trusting ... so beautiful.

"See you."

He turned around, closing his eyes and making himself remember the look on Vince's face, the high cheekbones that sharpened over the years, the curving mouth that had curled into a smirk the outfits, so daring, drawing every eye, the disappearing waistline, the hair, and forever the eyes, the eyes that had changed so much over the years and not changed at all.

His foot was raised on the first stair when he heard it, Vince's voice breaking as he called out his name. He couldn't ignore it, couldn't make his foot land on that first stair, that first step away from everything he'd had, they'd had. Not yet.

"Howard!" He turned around and met Vince head on and he could see Vince's desperation, the clinging hope.

"We'll see each other again, yeah?"

He couldn't do it. He couldn't lie, not even to give Vince what those wide eyes were pleading for. Vince wanted the lie and once again Howard couldn't give it to him.

"Goodbye, Little Man," he replied softly and turned away forcing himself to walk the stairs one at a time, slow and calculated, his mind screaming at him; selfish bastard.

Naboo was waiting by the couch when he came back up the stairs.

"You ready?"  
Howard nodded. He had no reason to wait, no desire. He needed it done, he needed the guilt gone, the eyes, the memories, the sad pathetic life of Howard Moon erased.

And yet he felt a spike of fear as Naboo's hands leaned towards him as he sat on the couch, his brain starting to scream _no – no, I don't meant it, I don't want it - _but he _did._ Somewhere deeper he _wanted it_, he wanted everything he couldn't have being Howard Moon. He wanted to be able to be touched without feeling filthy hands on him, hands that had paid for their own pleasure and yet had ineffectually stolen more from Howard than he had thought in those few desperate months between when he left school and got his job at the Zooniverse; he wanted to be able to walk into a store, any store and not initiate a full on evacuation, he wanted to be able to talk to someone and not have them shy away from him and then direct their affection onto the shining simpleton on Howard's right. Always on his right. He wanted to escape Vince, and at the same time something wanted to never let him go, something he'd felt for far longer and yet here he was, sitting back and waiting for the second Naboo was going to wipe away everything about the smaller man, wipe away the hurt, the disappointment the bickering and the sniping, erase the naive simpleton, the sweet best friend who had always been there – but before he could think any more on it, Naboo's hands took hold around his skull and the tiny shaman's lisp echoed through his skull and everything disappeared in favour of a whirling vortex echoing with his own name – Howard Moon, Howard TJ Moon.

Howard.

Howard?  
Howard...

Howard!

HOWARD.

_Howard._

...

^(*)^

The shop was eerily quiet as Vince tripped over himself in his half hidden haste to just _get away_, the sound of Howard and Naboo's betrayal dancing around in circles in his brain.

It almost seemed as if the shop understood how he felt, usually filled with so much wonder and fun, the colours, the stock – things so absurd and stupid it was no wonder people didn't buy them – things so out of place Vince was glad no one did, because then they were still his to adore. He liked them, he collected them and he was the one who passed them on when they were truly appreciated, because no one else bought anything from the Nabootique. Their main customer base bought only his attention; the Celebredar and it's information one of many scams that really sold nothing at all and yet made ridiculous amounts of money, things that put him in the spotlight and gave him that sense of being wanted he was still so unsure about being real.

The air felt warm and everything was slow and sombre. They didn't shine like they usually did and Vince wasn't sure whether it was him or the shop. It was like that some days, he wasn't sure whether it was _him_ saying what he did, or whether it was everything around him. A combination of the two, he'd decided, but it still made his skin itch, it still made him want to run away and hide it made him want to hold Howard close and tell him, tell him everything again and again and again.

_I'm sorry, forgive me, just please – I can't keep on like this. I need you, I'm sorry – I love you. Isn't that enough? Don't you believe me? Why can't you? Why aren't I enough?_

"What're you doing?" Vince jumped, dropping the spinning top he was holding. He bit back a response as he looked at Naboo and bent down to pick it up. He didn't know how long the Shaman had been standing there – he didn't even know how long he had been in the shop, wandering around touching the stupid objects on display.

He glanced over at Naboo carefully, trying not to make it too obvious, but the shaman was watching him with a bored look on his face from the doorway leading back upstairs.

"This can be a lot harder, you know," Naboo said, arms folded.

Vince swallowed, feeling like a rabbit caught in headlights for a second, but then his self defence kicked in and he scowled.

"Harder? Really?" he laughed, a small hollow sound that got stuck in his throat.

"He didn't explain it properly, did he?"

"Explain that we're leaving? No, he didn't." Vince looked away then, unable to look the Shaman in the eye, his _friends_ words playing around and around in his head.

"You heard us, didn't you."

Vince stopped still, clenching the spinning top between his fingers. He closed his eyes.

"_I want you to split me and Vince up…"_

"… _Alright."_

"Yeah, I did." The words escaped his lips in a whisper, but he knew Naboo heard him. The Shaman's silence said it all.

"He doesn't mean it, you know." The words came so suddenly that Vince jumped, his knees shaking with the force of them. They didn't need any more to know who they were both talking about.

"Course he does, he asked you didn't he? It's happening, Naboo – he's pushing me away like I always knew he would. "

"I can wipe your memory, you know – so you won't know about any of this. You can start again." Vince froze, Naboo's words bouncing around in his head. Setting down the stupid spinning top he watched it fall on its side. He didn't doubt Naboo – he _could_ make him forget; the world reeled, Naboo was offering him the chance to obliterate everything that he'd done, start again with a whole new set of memories and stories and lives, the ultimate recreation of Vince Noir. But it was nothing he hadn't done before, was it? It was no different to the stories he'd told Howard - living in the forest, the French Uncle, the ragamuffin from the streets – the family of boxers, the gifted child with a sense of fashion reminiscent of Joan Jett right from the womb – this was the ultimate new life. This wasn't just a story concocted from the best and most fantastical places he stayed forgetting one for the other, each one designed to make the flittering life from foster home to foster home that little more exciting than it had been, this was real and there was no going back. He would have a proper life, one with one single story from start to finish and no room for fantasy. It would be a world without Howard… He closed his eyes tight and sighed.

"Yeah, alright. Yeah." The words seemed so indistinct to be so final. He _knew_ what they were doing, he could feel the weight of them, the decision he had just made and his shoulders slumped, but there was a small voice in the back of his head whispering nastily… _forget him, forget him… like he's forgotten you, already…_

Naboo was quiet for a moment, and Vince could feel the Shaman's eyes on his back, staring at him. He waited, his own eyes closed, breathing through his nose, waiting for the Shaman to say what he was going to – and when he did Vince let his held breath escape; Naboo's words weren't harsh and they didn't make him jump and they didn't make him feel any better – they barely made him feel anything at all.

"I'll go and get it ready after I've finished with Howard. You'll need something that'll break the charm. Just a word, but a strong one. Like a key - So be careful, no Iggy Pop references or anything."

"Yeah, alright." Vince still didn't turn around as Naboo left, the jangle of the beads signalling his departure and leaving Vince to the solitary confinement of the shop once again. It was only when the beads had stopped shaking that Vince's mind started up again, it was almost as if everything had left it already and then suddenly kick started again, everything about Howard still intact. Howard who seemed to have always been there, Howard who had been the reason for Vince to start remembering his childhood, Howard who had made him _want _more than the flimsy flittering between homes. Howard who had made him want so much more and then gave it to him – only to steadily start taking it back. Their ideal little existence warping until they'd wound up here, working for Naboo, alone with each other's jibes and over exaggerated character flaws. It almost seemed strange that he would be left here of all places to stew over this decision to split, to leave everything behind. To forget the good times and the bad, forget everything.

Forget Howard.

_Forced_ to forget and in turn completely forgotten, after years and years and years – not worthy of memory, completely erased. A small sound escaped Vince's lips, rippling out into the air and echoing back at him. A tiny sob; his knees wavered. It had been years since Vince had felt this need to cry, to actually fall apart – despite everything that had happened, despite what Howard had already said, what he'd already done – it still wasn't enough. He'd held onto hope – after all these years, he'd still held on, and now there was no more hope. Howard didn't want him, he didn't want him _at all. _Howard wanted to forget him and the knowledge hit Vince so hard and fast he had to hold into the bench to stay upright - his stomach sinking as a small part of him – equally vindictive and vulnerable - didn't _want_ to remember Howard either.

Howard _didn't _want him, and he was sick of hoping Howard would change his mind.

Vince jumped as he heard the familiar thump of someone's heavy feet on the stairs. He froze, unsure whether he could face Howard – but the maverick was standing awkwardly in the doorway before Vince could do anything more than turn around and panic a little, searching for somewhere to hide.

One quick glance at Howard was enough to make all thoughts of running evaporate.

"I'm, err – I'm ready to go." Howard said, Vince nodded, unable to make his mouth make any sound at all. He ducked his head then.

"I just came down to say – " he trailed off, and Vince was thankful. He couldn't bear hearing Howard tell him goodbye. Not goodbye…

"Why're we doing this, Howard?"

Howard looked stricken for a second.

"Because it's for the best." _For the best_, just what Naboo said. Vince frowned.

"But is it? How do you know?"

"It's what you wanted,"

"What _I_ wanted? Where'd you get that from?"

"You."

Vince stared, dumbstruck at the frowning berk in front of him, the frowning Howard Moon dressed just like he always had been, completely clueless.

"Me?"

"I have to go."

"No, Howard – "

"I have to."

"Why?"

"I told you. _You._ This is what _you_ wanted. You said it would be easier if I wasn't here. You'd be able to understand if I wasn't there. This is what you wanted. This is for you."

"For _me? _Howard, you dill! I don't want this – I want _you!_"

"I can't – you don't want that. You think you do, but you don't."

"Howard – "

"Don't make this any harder,Vince." The look on Howard's face made Vince's mouth snap shut. He hadn't seen that look on Howard's face in a _long_ time. It was a look that said Howard had made up his mind, and he wasn't changing it.

"I have to go."

Vince bowed his head. His throat felt constricted and he clenched his hands tight, struggling not to throw something or reach forward and grab Howard's shirt and hold him.

"See you." He wanted to laugh at that, he wanted to _scream_ – he wanted to say _something_, but nothing could work his tongue, it felt thick.

He closed his eyes as he heard Howard turn away, his thick soled shoes squeaking on the tiles, and despite the darkness he could still feel Howard pushing him aside, filling his mind with pompous thoughts to block out that irrational fear Vince knew was filling up his Jazz Maverick, no matter how he pretended it wasn't. As his thoughts revolved Vince's chest tightened and he was struggling to breathe when his eyes shot open, Howard almost disappeared up the stairs before he panicked and called out, his voice squeaking and high.

"Howard!" Howard turned around. Their eyes met for a second and Vince could see the panic surging through Howard at that second, see how terrified Howard was – see how there was no changing Howard's mind. His chest tightened a little more.

"We'll see each other again, yeah?" _Hope_. _Give me hope, please, that's all I want. Lie. I don't care. Please…._

"Goodbye, Little Man," Howard replied softly and turned away, the tight knot in Vince's chest seemed to undo in a second, all on it's own and his body suddenly felt weak and hot - tears prickled in his eyes and before he could think on them, his mind beaten and disorientated – like florals had come into fashion from the outer and he hadn't expected them at all – like someone had slapped him and the world was reeling, he felt the wetness running down his cheeks.

And as Howard disappeared back up the stairs behind that one last address Vince knew for sure it was the last time he'd see those stupid brown shoes. Howard had decided, once again. Howard had made the decision always there but never voiced between them.

Howard. It all lead back to Howard. And it was then Vince realised, a small sad smile creeping across his face, a tiny insane laugh cramped in the space of his own sheer terror at their situation, that it was Howard, only Howard that was worth it.

Howard was his key. The only reason he had to remember Vince Noir was Howard. The only thing worth remembering. Vince sunk into Howard's chair behind the counter, reaching out to play with one of Howard's pens from stationary village.

_I love you, Little man._

Little man.

Vince smiled, scribbling the two words down on the post it note in front of him.

"In case you remember," Vince murmured out loud, encircling the two words twice over, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he stared at the words. Would Howard ever see them? Probably not, and even if he did he'd never make the connection. He'd never meet Vince again, and Vince wouldn't be Vince anyway. They were never going to see each other again.

"Vince?" he turned around, Naboo was staring at him from the doorway.

"Is he gone?"

"Bollo's dropping him off on the train to Leeds."

"Oh, right."

"You ready? Figured out a key to use yet?"

"Yeah," he nodded; he wasn't. His tongue felt thick and useless. He wasn't ready at _all._ But he never would be. How on earth could he be ready to wipe everything he'd ever known out of his mind. How could he be ready to remove _Howard_ from everything he'd ever known?

"I'll never see him again, will I?" he asked Naboo as he followed the shaman up the stairs.

"You might," Naboo said wryly, and Vince gave his friend a smile as he settled on the couch. It wasn't much, just a tiny smile - their own last gifts to each other while they could. Neither of them really worthwhile.

"Thanks, Naboo – " Naboo frowned, not saying a thing for a moment, his mouth twisted into a frown, unreadable and Vince waited, hoping for something to escape this façade, the barricade the Shaman seemed to have built around himself since he'd come up the stairs in a flurry of blue robes and hadn't stopped frowning or swearing under his breath since. A flicker of emotion passed across his face and then it was gone, stolen back into the resolve of stony calm.

"Think about your key – " Naboo said walking around the back of the couch, Vince followed him with his eyes.

"Don't you need to know what it is?"

"Nah, the spell focuses around what you're thinking about." In that second it could have been anything else, Naboo could have been helping him out of a scrape of his own or Howard's making. A smile tried to wade through the heavy clouds but didn't quite make it.

"Oh, okay."

"Think about it," Naboo murmured again, holding Vince's head between his hands and making him face the front. Vince closed his eyes again, trying to push down the need to tell Naboo he was ruining his hair. But Howard appeared in his minds eye again and he stopped.

"_I need a gesture, Little man, a proper gesture – "_

"_Come on, Little Man, it's gonna be alright – "_

"_I love you, Little man – "_

"You've just got to think about your key. Focus on the one thing able to unlock everything that is Vince Noir. Think on it hard. Focus, don't turn away from it. Think, focus – _think…_" and as Vince scowled and was about to tell Naboo to shove it, he _was_ thinking about it and Naboo was just getting in the way when Naboo's voice wavered and began to fade, overpowered by the same two words revolving on a carousel in Vince's brain room. Vince's eyelids drooped, heavy and the air around him seemed warm, and as he drifted into darkness he smiled, listening to Howard's northern lilt repeat on endless loop – _Little man… little man… little man… goodbye, little man…_

And then everything that was Vince Noir floated away and his body went limp as a doll and the smile slipped from his face, his head lolling back in Naboo's grasp, ready to be filled once again: ready to become Nate Warner.

^(*)^

The air stuck in his throat as Vince leaned forward. Howard wasn't pulling away, he was staring at him with glazed eyes but he wasn't pulling away. It _had_ to be obvious what was about to happen, even Howard would have to know what they were doing, _and he wasn't pulling away. _

Vince jumped as a large warm hand trembled across his cheek, cupping it, rough fingers toying with his hair.

"Vince – " his name was a breath, a tingling rush of air across his own skin, warm from Howard's lips. Neither seemed able to move again for a second and then Vince leaned forward that little more, pressing his lips against Howard's and felt the northerner slowly, tentatively kiss back.

"Vince," his own name rushed back across Howard's lips again and the tremble in it made a shiver run down Vince's back.

Howard was kissing him.

_Howard _was_ kissing him._

The knowledge rushed home in a blazing fury and as Howard pulled him closer Vince kissed harder, losing his fingers in Howard's curls, trying to pull every part of him as close as possible and then Howard began to fade, dissipating into smoke and Vince jerked awake with a shout, gasping for air in the shape of Howard's name. His hands were shaking and he clutched at his duvet blindly, worrying his lip between his teeth, unsure where he was for a moment, lost in the feeling of Howard so close to him, pressed tight against him, the feel of his lips on Vince's own, his curls in Vince's grasp – and then the feeling of it fading away, disappearing without any chance to stop it. He felt disorientated, even the duvet clutched between his fingers didn't help to ground him, his stomach lurched and for a second he wasn't sure whether he was going to be sick or not, heaving in air and shaking.

"Vince?" Vince jumped as Bollo's voice rippled through the dark, a small crack of light invading the bedroom as the gorilla opened the door. He sounded tentative, as though expecting to be pushed away and Vince let out a sob, the sound rushing out before he could think, and the memories sharp in his minds eye.

"_Why did you kiss me?"_

"_Cuppa tea? I think I need a cuppa – " Howard got to his feet and headed towards the kitchen. _

"_Don't you run away from me, Howard. You aint running this time – not about this." Vince scowled, following after Howard before the maverick could escape. _

"_It's what I've wanted for years. You never gave it, though, and then you did and had to take it away – like it's something to be ashamed of. You kissed me, Howard. Why won't you admit it meant something? It had to, otherwise you wouldn't avoid it. Why won't you even admit it _happened?"

"_Because it shouldn't have!" Howard fumed, turning around, breathing hard, his eyes darting around in his eyes, panic stricken._

"_But it _did!_ So why wont you let something happen? Why do you always find a way to ruin what I want? You do, Howard – you always find some way it ruining it. I don't even know whether you actually try to do it or if it just happens, I don't even know if you're aware that it happens."_

"_Vince – "_

"_No, you do. You find some way of ruining it. I've never held it against you because I thought it was some warped way of keeping me and you together. But it's not even that. Now you're intent on pushing me away and you wonder why we're like this? Why this is so screwed? I thought we'd finally done it, we'd be together. It's what I've wanted longer than I can think straight, you berk! I thought this time we'd figure it out. But you're so _anal_, Howard. You're so intent on being miserable that you won't even give it a try. You ruined us, Howard."_

"_I _what_?" Howard was gaping at him, completely dumbfounded._

'_You heard me, you berk. I'm not saying it again." _

"_I heard you, and what on earth do you mean by that, you tit?"_

"_If you didn't get it you wont, you thick twat," Vince spat, feeling anger welling up. He'd opened up and Howard still didn't have a clue. He just didn't understand and there was no chance it would be any other way, and as he left the room Vince had to fight to stop the memory floating to the front of his mind and torturing him the whole night; Howard holding him, cupping his cheek, the tiny rush of air between his lips as they'd kissed, the amazing few seconds where he was sure he was flying - and then like crashing to earth the stupid Northern berk pulling away, the refusals, the dismissals, the denials. _

"He ruined it," Vince murmured to Bollo, trying to convince himself that it wasn't _him_ who'd been the one to ruin them. Trying to stop the feeling of Howard's lips on his slip away, swallowed by the power of his own words. The gorilla wrapped his arms around Vince and pulled him close.

"He didn't understand – I tried to tell him, he just wouldn't listen. He took it all away – I loved him, I _told_ him I did, and he, he took it all away. He ruined it."

"Howard ballbag," Bollo murmured and Vince buried his face in the gorilla's fur.

"_I – I can't, it's _wrong" James' voice rippled through Vince mind, echoing and wearing Howard's Northern lilt. He knew the difference – He had kissed Howard, confronted by Dennis, unable to believe Howard's declaration amongst the stars and then painfully jolted back into reality once firmly on the ground; Howard had kissed _him_ and then backed away – terrified or regretful or both.

James had kissed Nate and it had been _wrong._

Howard's words or James?

"I – I don't know what to do, Bollo."

^(*)^

Once he was strong enough and allowed out of his bed, Vince still found himself confined to the Nabootique and the flat above, though more of his own doing than Naboo's. And despite the troubles stuck in his head the problem about being stuck in the flat was the sheer number of Howard's possessions still lying around, and Vince, adamant to move on without opting for Naboo's cure all memory spell a second time, found himself lost in his own sanctuary. There were many things Vince wasn't proud to admit to – and crying into a fully grown silverback gorilla after finding a brown sock in his colours was one of them.

The annoying thing was before he had never noticed just how much of a mark Howard had put on the flat – it had always been him and Bollo decorating, choosing the colours, painting the walls… and making Howard hang the paintings and the drapes and arrange Naboo's knickknacks along the tops of the cabinets. It had been him and Bollo choosing the furniture and Howard arranging his precisely ordered collection of global explorer underneath it so they weren't in the way. It had been Howard who stocked the cupboards every week, Howard whose decks were set up in the far corner, Howard whose jacket was on the hook, Howard's all in one shampoo in the bathroom and his home brand soap and razor in the cup on the sink amongst Vince's melee. And worst of all – there was the room that had _everything else_ behind it – everything _except_ Howard. Howard was the main thing missing from the flat, missing from Vince and everything else fell to the wayside in accordance. Everything felt wrong and he couldn't see any way to get control back, to make things somehow normal, despite how despairingly different they were and always would be. He had no idea what he was going to do – until the end of the second day since Howard had left and Bollo knocked nervously on the door and offered Vince a shiny magazine wrapped in plastic.

"Cheekbone," the gorilla grunted, holding it out like it was some sort of holy grail or desperate last resort and then suddenly some part of him made sense.

"Cheers, Bollo." And at that moment it was that simple. Fashion was his anchor – the one thing Howard had never understood, the one thing Howard had no claim over the one thing Nate Warner knew of but not _about_, and so he held the magazine close and when Bollo lumbered out of the room he set about finding as many of his old magazines as he could, stacking them backwards – in very Howard like fashion – _no, don't, don't think about him…_ and then starting to read back.

He needed stability back, needed to be _himself_ again, and that meant being the King of Camden – he needed that, it wasn't just a fancy title any more, something to boost his ego where he finally didn't feel Howard's underling anymore. No, now it was a necessity – it was something thing anchoring him, Vince Noir, to the world, something far beyond the greying line between what he knew was himself and what was Nate.

He dropped to his knees amongst the mess and that's where he was five minutes later when wearing a flowery apron Bollo pushed the door open with a tray bearing tea and jaffa cakes.

"Cheers, Bollo." Vince smiled, looking up at the ape; Bollo frowned at the towers of magazines around his friend and sat down on the bed, waiting until Vince clambered up next to him; Vince leaned on his friend, brushing Bollo's fur flat.

"What Precious Vince doing with old magazines?" the gorilla asked, surveying the mess of magazines around Vince. It really was a bit of a mess. But it made sense, and he needed sense right now. He needed something to grasp, something he _knew_ was his – something that didn't have anything to do with Howard.

"Dunno – catching up?" the gorilla grunted and Vince stilled, he didn't want to ask it, but it slipped out before he could think any further and regret it.

" Bollo – d'you think i'm back?"

"What does Vince mean?"

"Am I me?"

"Precious Vince used to smile, tell Bollo story, trim Bollo's split ends." Vince's heart sunk.

"Plenty of time for Vince to do that, Bollo wait. Naboo says it take time, Vince should listen to Naboo, little Shaman is wise."

"Cheers Bollo," Vince tried to smile for his friend and the gorilla's eyes sparkled.

"Precious Vince need holiday, Bollo take Vince to EuroDisney."

"Yeah, that'd be nice," only as he closed his eyes all he could see was all those times they'd spent in the Goofy Lodge, just the two of them, and then with Naboo and Bollo.

But Bollo was right, he needed time, he needed to escape – and it honed itself home as he left the bathroom a couple of hours later and found himself staring at Howard's bedroom door.

"_Don't you walk away from me, Howard. Not this time!"_

"_What do you want from me?"  
_

"_Why are you so scared?"  
_

"_Scared? I'm _not_ scared! Howard Moon is not scared – "_

"_Not scared? Fuck off, Howard – you're terrified! Why is it so bad to love me?"_

"_Because love is something you only understand when it's directed at you."_

"_W-what?"_

"_It's all about you, and if it's not then it's not worth the trouble."_

_  
"Is that what you think of me?"_

"_Think? That's all there is, Little man."_ He could still see the sadness in Howard's face as he'd turned away, disappearing into his bedroom and shutting Vince out. He could remember how _empty_ he'd felt, how that tiny snap of the door closing had been worse than if Howard had slapped him. He could remember the taste of all those drinks on his tongue, he could remember the burn of his eyes and the chill going straight through his jacket. He could remember rolling his ankle in those stupid _fucking_ boots and limping home. He could remember finally stumbling home and finding that door shut just the way it had been when he'd left all those hours ago and he could remember wishing, wishing so damn hard that he could forget everything he'd ever felt for Howard. Forget everything.

And he had, Naboo and Howard had found that cure all solution he'd wished for so hard and now he was realising how much he hadn't wanted it at all, how violated he felt, how vulnerable. How betrayed he was that his wish had been granted. And for the first time since he was back, that maybe being someone else, being Nate, hadn't been a bad idea at all.

And it fell into place so easily, the way out from all this … baggage. The weight of Howard pressing against him from every side, all his belongings, all the memories lurking around his brain, torturing him again before fading into the filing again. The weight of his past, of everything he'd ever done, ever said, ever been. Everything he'd ever lost.

After everything, after starting again so many times, after that terrified prayer he'd made all those years ago when a small boy ostracised by everyone else let the gawky little foster kid sit next to him and had listened and never stopped, after all that time –

He shook his head, feeling the memories rattle around inside his skull, jumbling Vince and Nate together and he closed his eyes, feeling the two parts of him fight to separate themselves from the other, one part Vince the other Nate and both at the same time... His mouth set a firm line when he realised what he wanted to do – he needed to see who Nate Warner was, and maybe then and only then, would he know what he wanted to be.

It was that simple.

^(*)^

Howard wasn't sure that the fact his flat never went quiet was a good thing or not. Court seemed to think that he shouldn't stop moving, that she couldn't let him sink into silence because then his mind would go wild and drag everything back up again, only her tact seemed to have the opposite effect. Her constant talking only brought back memories of Vince doing the same, like quiet was something to be ashamed of, that it was boring and pointless; life was all about living, that's the way Vince had always tried to explain it, in wild stories and half formed words and pictures. He led by example, never sitting still, never falling quiet for long and Court seemed determined to make him remember James by throwing him heartily into everything that was James – the taxi, the books, the music, the clothes, and yet as he sat listening to Court talk about the jazz club, about the boys and how disappointed they'd been that _James_ had missed his session the other day, how they'd asked where _James_ was and whether _James_ was going to come and play poker on Thursday like always. He sat still, hearing the name and feeling it go through him, empty and dull. It was just another session of trying to be fed memories that felt familiar – somewhere deep inside of him, like a magnetic pull but underground, deep and dark but they didn't want to come up. They continued to sit in the back of his mind, everything Howard fully in control and unabating and as Court went off on one tangent, Howard lost himself in another, rediscovering his own memories – Vince and him in the tundra, him and Vince at school, in monkey hell, that time when they went to Skegness, trying to do the main shop together and arguing all through Sainsbury's.

It was only when Court lay a friendly hand on his shoulder and jerked him out of his reverie with a whispered 'Howard- ?' that he realised he'd almost left the flat, his mind a million miles away and forgetting completely that Court was talking.

"Sorry – " he murmured softly and felt her eyes, sad and staring.

"You don't have to do this," she murmured softly.

"I do." But hours later he still found himself staring at the door, waiting for someone else to come walking through it, or magically open up and let him run through himself. Somehow the act of opening it himself proving too much and he felt the burn of shame in his stomach, but he still didn't move. He could feel Court watching him, feel the burn of her eyes, feel this odd emotion that he couldn't understand and did at the same time, this burn like jealousy and fear and a thousand and other things in between that left the air thick and quiet, like nothing could ever be said; after all, there was nothing Howard _could_ say. He didn't have the words; he'd _never_ had the words to explain anything he really wanted to – especially when he didn't understand them and he couldn't understand this. He needed something else, needed some sign, some God sent signal about which god forsaken way to go –which solo he was meant to be playing. He couldn't move, both risking too much – the burn in his heart was pure and when he closed his eyes and reached out for it, it felt like James and it was all for Court, for the months together and the feeling like he was almost flying for most of it, and then there was the rest of him that burned for Vince and Vince alone and he was drowning and flying and singing and screaming and everything else imaginable and he couldn't stop and both were so luring... so magical and he didn't know which one he wanted, Court and ... safety and the burn of Nate, the memory of that smile and the fire in his touch and the feel of his lips and his tongue... or Vince. Vince who had been everything for months and years and was still everything right up until Howard forced him to become nothing because he could barely stand having everything and not being able to touch it – unable to even breathe the same air without feeling that friction... tasting his tongue and the feel of his skin and the panic in his veins in those moments where nothing else in the world mattered because Vince was kissing him, and then the moments after where he realised he had kissed Vince. Those few moments where everything teetered and almost collapsed only to catch it and push it aside, because if they acknowledged it, if they took it and tried to make it work – then it would only end badly. It _could_ only end badly. It _had_ ended badly; the memories, once awoken sat hot and heavy in the front of Howard's brain and yet still so fuzzy he knew their contents but hadn't really analysed it. He had kissed Vince. Vince had _kissed _him. He'd kissed Vince. The fact was solid, but it was just a fact, like he brushed his teeth and still had the first Jazz album he'd ever owned... it was far away and almost insignificant even though it had been the cause of everything. He knew it was the cause. It hadn't been James and it hadn't been Nate. It had been before, it had been them and it had broken things. They'd been broken because of that kiss. The taste of Vince's lips on his own, the touch of his skin. It had broken and he knew why.

He'd fallen in love, and hadn't known what to do.

So he'd ruined it.

And in the darkness of James' flat, Howard tried, and failed once again, to give himself a Chinese burn, his memory flaring with the memory of Vince catching him out, staring at the red marks – asking, begging, yelling for him to stop.

Vince, it all came back to Vince.

But this time Vince didn't want him.

^(*)^

Vince stared up at his large white opposing apartment block trying to force up the courage to go inside. He bit his lip as he stared at the front door, the key resting loosely in his hand. In the hours since he'd left the flat his courage took the moment he got off the bus to leave him and now he was standing in front of Nate's house and he could feel the vague connection and it scared him. His stomach was writhing in knots and all he needed to do was open his fingers and the keys would fall on the ground and he could leave them there and run, run away – run back to the Nabootique and just forget Nate completely and yet at the same time he didn't want to. He needed to be here, even as wrong as it felt, as strange the recognition was, the fight inside of him for memories to float to the surface that didn't belong to him, to _Vince. _He felt like he was trying to walk in shoes that didn't quite fit and he wanted to retrace his footsteps, hoping that there'd be another set waiting for him when he got back on their path, only he _knew _there wouldn't be and he had to wear this set for a while and they did look genius... But they just weren't entirely _his._

His curiosity fizzled for a second and the truth taking control - he didn't want to be here, he wanted the Nabootique and he wanted Naboo and Bollo and he wanted to feel _right_; he wanted _Howard._ But he couldn't have Howard. Howard needed something more, needed something different and _that_ was why he was standing outside the house some vague voice in his head whispered _mine_. He wanted to _know._ He wanted to see and feel and wonder what Howard was feeling in James' life.

Biting his lip he took one step forward and up over the curb. The feeling of something lodged in his throat didn't change, it didn't grow, but it didn't diminish either. It was still just there. The stairs were narrow as he climbed them, each step taking that little more effort than it should. He almost felt like that guy Leroy told him about, the one who kept walking up these stairs that were in a circle, so that he kept going in circles, thinking he'd get to the top when there wasn't one.

The keys jingled but it was a hollow sound as Vince fitted them in the lock and opened the door. It was a very different flat to the one he'd woken up in; to the one he'd spent years in above the Nabootique, the flat where he'd been happy. This was white and spacious, gleaming silver plating and large glass windows. It was so modern and classy and echoingly empty that Vince backed up against the door as he closed it, staring. There was no life in it; there was barely any hint that anyone lived there at all. His keys and bag slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with an echoing bang that seemed to travel around every room before it reached him.

"Hello?" he called out, waiting for some sign of life, a housekeeper, a pet, a rogue fly – but there was nothing, just echoing silence interrupted by the sound of his own voice. Leaving his bag where it fell, he took a couple of steps forward. Everything was just so impersonal. There was a weird statue he'd seen in the Camden markets on the gleaming glass coffee table and there was a Mondrian copy by the kitchen wall, the stark bold primary colours in strict geometric shapes were so different to anything that had ever set foot in the Nabootique – and as he moved further in he saw smaller signs of life, the abandoned shoes half shoved under the made bed, the second toothbrush in the coaster but nothing else showing that anyone else lived there - not anymore, anyway. There was a clear shelf in the cupboard amongst the long coats and bold tshirts, the line of boots along the far wall of the cupboard in exact accordance with the ones at home at the Nabootique. The large cd player in the main room by the settee was another thing so startlingly different to the one he had at home – Howard still had a record player and yet the large speakers here came back to a small ipod dock in the corner by the kitchen. There wasn't much in the fridge either, but there was a number of cooking books in a top cupboard that made Vince think hard for a second, it was such a strange concept – that he could cook, and by the looks of the books, cook _well._

But by far the strangest thing about being here, surrounded by everything that was Nate, the hollowness of it, the way the voice in the back of his head felt sad and yet at home amongst it made Vince's heart ache – and then he finally descended on the answering machine, the tiny light blinking at him from the moment he entered the flat until he couldn't stand it anymore.

He tentatively reached out and pressed play.

"_You have twelve messages; message one..." _Vince closed his eyes as the voice began to echo out into the room.

"_Nate, if you're there can you give us a call, it's Cash."_

"_Nate, looks like you're still not home. Mate, where are you?"_

"_... Jess is getting worried._

"_Nate? It's Mick, listen where are you? Look, give us a call back, yeah? We've tried your mobile a million times and you're not answering."_

"_Nate, give us a call would you? We're thinking of calling the cops if we don't hear from you."_

Vince pressed stop on the display. It was funny – they cared, and yet the voice in the back of his head, the feeling that was Nate, it still felt hollow. Still felt alone – Vince didn't want alone, he didn't want that, Nate didn't want that – but they'd both still been alone for so long. They both still felt the same, and yet they'd both had people who cared for them, they were just too absorbed in themselves to notice. Feeling guilty he reached out and picked up the phone, listening to the small voice in the back of his head recount him the numbers of a mobile number and listening to it ring.

"Hey this is Cash."

"Cash, it's ... its Nate. Sorry I just ran off, some stuff happened and I had to get away – I've got a lot to explain. You able to meet me somewhere in say two hours?"

Just enough time to get back to the Nabootique and figure something out with naboo. Just enough time to get his own head sorted before he explained to the people that loved him that Nate Warner had never really existed.

And as Vince shut the door on Nate's flat he still felt strangely hollow about it all, especially now he'd made his decision, with or without Howard, he was sticking with Vince Noir.

^(*)^

It must have been hours now, Howard thought, staring at the darkness on the back of his closed lids. Each second dragging by in absolute silence, and _that _was the worst thing – the quiet. Rolling over Howard opened his eyes. The room was disorientating, it was far too big and too brown and too _his._ Only it wasn't even that, for all Naboo's faith that being surrounded by James' things would allow the personality to resume its domination over Howard, it wasn't working. He still felt entirely _Howard_ and everything felt alien and wrong. By all rights he should have felt at home, it was everything even Howard had dreamed of, the perfect home, filled with culture and works of intelligent minds the world over; it seemed so entirely _wrong_ that what he really wanted was a mind no one could call intelligent in any vague sense and it seemed almost an insult to every master sitting on the shelf in the lounge, but there was an empty hole that his singular echoing breathing seemed to amplify.

He wanted _Vince._

He wanted Vince just across the room, breathing and twisting and turning in his sleep. The room was too empty, too echoing – too silent.

He could barely stand it.

Sitting up only made it worse. The moon shone in through the open window, and watching it muttering along to itself high in the heavens in this room seemed almost as wrong as the fact the room was empty. The shaft of light illuminated a long strip of the room, right at the front of his bed, not quite the whole length of the room – if anything it was bigger than their shared room at the Nabootique, and that just made it worse. The room was bigger and even worse it _felt_ bigger, it felt enormous - like he was sitting upright in his bed in the middle of the Sahara.

Every time he closed his eyes, trying to clamp out those baby blues they seemed to creep back in, worse than ever. Everywhere he looked Vince was there, nothing that Howard could do to escape it, _go – just go. Don't pretend to be Howard unless you _are._ Please, just go – _

Staring at the shadows cast along the floor he could feel time slip by so slowly he almost wanted to cry, to shout, to break something. Everything felt wrong. Just wrong. The fact it was all for the best kept revolving around his head, an endless forced loop that simply didn't work. Everything just came back to him, to Nate, to _Vince_.

The need to write down the thoughts echoing in his head, to force them onto paper suddenly became unbearable and Howard tripped and stumbled out from under his covers – wracking his brain in endless circles, thinking where _James_ would keep pen and paper; Howard kept it in the drawer beside his bed, James it seemed, only kept a small notepad hanging in the kitchen cupboard.

It felt strangely _wrong_ to be writing such prose on paper watermarked with the words 'shopping list' in every available space, but it was the only thing he could find and as he settled down on the couch and the pen hit the page the paper wasn't what felt wrong; it was the words. The first line bled from his tongue and onto the paper and then Howard stopped, like he was standing in front of a wall. He pressed the pen again to the page, feeling the words on his tongue, but they wouldn't comprehend – he felt a little stupid gesturing in front of him with the pen, almost like he was now aware of doing it and how pretentiously stupid it was, and as if to emphasise it didn't do a thing to defeat the block lurking somewhere between his brain and his fingers either.

"Hey." Howard jumped as he looked up from the page, freezing as Court peered at him through the gloom.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He finally murmured, loosening his tongue.

"I wasn't asleep. I heard you up. What are you doing?" she asked softly, padding across the room and sitting down on the ground in front of him, her hair messy and her face drawn.

"Writing,"

"You never write, what is it?"

Howard blushed as he looked down at her.

"It's err, it's a – it's – " Court pried the paper out from under his fingers.

"Cheekbones sharp like - slopes of cream? "

"I used to write poems." He murmured, not looking at her, feeling his cheeks blaze scarlet in the gloom. "When I was younger; cream poems. I was Britain's Leading Cream Poet, Vince used to say. Never occurred to him I was the only cream poet."

"It's sweet, Howard."

"I haven't written one in years." Taking the paper back out of her hands he couldn't help but feel incredibly stupid. In his head it was as romantic as they had always been, but out loud they still sounded as stupid. But the way Court was looking at him - half amusement, half exasperation - made him want to sink into a hole and never come out.

"It's stupid."

"It's sweet," she reiterated, as though the fact she was a journalist was going to stop him feeling like a berk. Vince had always supported him, or at least kept the ridicule private and kind hearted - and it had felt real then. Court wasn't ridiculing him and his poncy poetry but only because she was unsure, surely. She'd always been careful and she never sought to hurt his feelings and now wasn't about to change that; it was written all over her face.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he murmured, folding the paper up, crushing it.

"Don't be, I was awake anyway," Court smiled looking up at him from the floor, looking at him in a way that he'd seen plastered all over Vince's face before. His stomach squirmed.

"I should get back to bed," He mumbled, breaking their gaze as he got up and padded back to his room and the darkness, unable to meet her eyes again, unable to face that once again he'd lost himself in something that had nothing to do at all with being _James_, with who he was supposed to be and everything to do with Howard bloody Moon and the vulnerable imbecile he'd never been without, never really _wanted_ to be without, and now that he was – it was like the world had tipped upside down. Only it was upside down for him, and Vince was the one to tip it, just like Howard had always thought he would be.

^(*)^

Vince could barely get the image of Nate's friends' eyes glazing over out of his head. It had been the only way, as Bollo kept saying, the only way when they woudn't understand what went on. They didn't understand, it was too hard – their worlds were too different, and regardless of it he still couldn't get the image out of his head, the way their eyes had rolled backwards and their heads had lolled forwards and the feeling of déjà vu revolving around in his own head, the sick feeling in his gut – every memory they had of Nate Warner, of the person Vince had been for six months of his life was gone and he felt more alone than ever.

But Lady Luck was still fond of him it seemed, as he sat alone in the flat, waiting for Bollo and Naboo to finish disposing of Blank Notice, the sound of heavy pounding on the door downstairs bringing him crashing back to earth. His breath caught in his throat as he walked down the stairs; no one knew he was back, the only people who did had been unconscious in the back of Naboo's van an hour before hand and the only other person who knew was –

Vince's heart was pounding as he crossed the room, reaching for the lock and opening the door gingerly.

"Leroy!" he knew he sounded surprised, and the look on leroy's face said that _he_ knew Vince sounded surprised and Vince couldn't help but feel guilty at the sinking feeling in his stomach that the only other person in the world he could handle seeing wasn't the first person he wanted to be standing in the doorway.

"You bastard," Leroy scowled, and Vince felt the same indescribable feeling he always got, almost surprised and a little confused all at once that Leroy could read him better than anyone... even Howard.

"I should hit you, you know."

"How on earth – "

"You know all of Shoreditch might not be buzzing with the news you're back, but i thought I was a mate? Why the hell didn't you tell me anything?"

There were only a few times in his life that Vince could remember not being able to say anything at all, and this was one more to add to the incredibly short list as he stared at his friend.

"Well?"

He made a few indescribable noise before all he could do was settle on one thing.

"Sorry?" it was the most stupid thing he could say, but the anger seemed to just wash out of Leroy's face in an instant.

"Where the hell you been, Vince? I've been looking for you for _months._" A jolt of guilt shot through Vince's gut and his eyes drew themselves to the still papered windows of the Nabootique.

"That was you! You put them posters up?"

"I put em everywhere, mate. People were looking for ages, but then everything wore off and it was just me an Lester – "

"L – Lester?"

"We've been looking for Howard too, Vince, you nonce. Is he here?"

Vince shook his head. He couldn't say anything, all of a sudden his throat felt tight and the look on Howard's – _James'_ face when he'd told him to just go flashed across the back of Vince's eyelids. He opened his mouth to say something but the words caught in his throat.

"Vince?"

He closed his mouth and took a deep breath. He had to say it, as much as he'd been avoiding saying the fact out loud.

"Nah, he's – " what could he say? What was there to say? "He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Didn't come back with me."

Leroy stared, a white startled expression on his face, mouth agape and he just _stared._

"What?"

"He's gone."

"Vince – " but Vince shook his head.

"I can't talk about it, Leroy." He muttered, backing away from the door, leaving it open. Leroy followed him through and shut it, just as Vince was heading for the staircase.

"You gotta give me something, Vince. I been out of my mind bout you four berks for months. You just ran off on me. No note, nothing. We been mates for years and nothing!"

"It was too quick, there wasn't time for anything, Leroy. I didn't have time to wrap me head around it! We just had to leave, that was it. I still don't really know much at all."

"You still owe me a bit more of an explanation than that! Like where's Howard? Why ain't he here if you are?"

"He's just not."

"He's like your lapdog, Vince. It's been like that since we were fifteen!"

"He ain't nothing like a guide dog!"

"I said lap dog, Vince."

"Well that's what they are, ain't they? Lapradors?"

"It's different, Vince. Howard's your mate, our mate – but I mean you and 'im have been inseparable. He's a nonce, but he comes back! It was like this when he ran off with that Haabermaaster guy – he'll be back."

"He's not coming back." Vince murmured, vehemently.

"Sure he is!"

"He's not!"

"Why?"

"COS I TOLD HIM NOT TO!"

Leroy stared at Vince, agape and Vince couldn't help but shuffle his feet, feeling awkward under his friends stare.

"You _what_?"

"I told him not to come back! I told him I didn't want to see him again, alright?"

"Why on earth did you do that? You batty crease? Christ, Vince! You and 'im have been together like marmite and jam on cheese toasties!"

Vince blinked, waiting for Leroy to realise how _ridiculous_ that sounded, but he didn't. He was met with a staring _questioning_ gaze.

"Why on earth would you tell him to piss off?"

"Cause he didn't want me – and I couldn't keep him here when he was better off elsewhere, alright?"

"Better off? Vince - its _Howard._ He ain't better off on his own. He'll get himself killed or something! You've always been looking after him."

"Well he best not get in that situation, alright? Cos I'm not running after him again. He's better off without me. He was happier without me, alright? So just leave it!"

"Happier without you? What about you?"

"What about me?!" Vince asked indignantly.

"You happier without him?"

Leroy had been in the door five minutes, not even that, and already he'd hit the nail on the head. Howard had been happier without him, but Howard had been gone days and Vince was standing in the middle of the flat barefoot and unironed, in un-accessorised garbage. He looked for all the world - with his hair growing out of something he obviously regretted, and his slumped shoulders – like a lost little boy. He'd forgotten, absorbed in everything that was Howard that someone else had been with him for years, not right behind him like Howard, more often in the dark, fading in and out over days and weeks, sometimes even standing right beside him in the light of disco lights or days in the park when he just couldn't stand anything else.

"It's not about me. I'm sorry, Leroy. Things haven't been straight for a while. S'hard to explain."

"Try, you owe me that."

"I don't know how – " he struggled to murmur.

"Vince – "

"'e weren't 'appy with me, I 'ad to let him go."

"You're an idiot, Vince."

Vince looked up timidly at Leroy and the look on his friends face made Vince bite his lip. Leroy was looking at him sadly, a sad _smile_ on his face.

"What d'you mean?"

"You're an idiot. This ain't a romance novel."

"You never seen him, though, he was _happy_. He had a proper life an everything. He pretty much had a girlfriend! I couldn't take that away from him!" The lie about the reality of Court's relationship with Howard just slipped past – for all the changes Howard was still slightly clueless about that part of his friendship. The way she'd looked at him – Vince couldn't have taken it away. Howard had smiled at her, he was still as blind when someone was flirting with him, but he wasn't a board. He stood some chance. James had a chance for a proper life; Howard didn't. Howard's future was destined to be spent alongside him, Vince, that was what they'd been for almost twenty years and surely would be forever. But how could he make Howard choose that over true happiness? The future Howard had always dreamed of; settling down with a woman and having his own perfect little family that didn't involve driving hours on end to the Grandparents house because they just couldn't stay at home for the weekends.

"But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're still falling apart, Vince. Your cracks are showing," Leroy murmured, pushing a lock of hair behind Vince's ear.

"Mayhaps I just don't have the energy to paint over em today." Leroy hadn't laughed when Vince had explained it all those years ago; Vince had always thought he would, but it had been a funny feeling he'd later discovered was guilt when he realised how much Leroy knew than he gave him credit for. It had never been the same relationship as he'd had with Howard, but Leroy had always been there, he'd always stood by them. He'd always been second best, and for some reason he'd always understood why – even when moments like this Vince had no idea why Howard took precedence.

"Good," Leroy smiled. "Where've you been, Vince?" Vince looked over and saw for the first time the weak twitch in the corner of Leroy's mouth. A sudden jolt took hold of Vince's attention.

"I – I – I'm so sorry Leroy," he whispered, feeling vaguely horrified.

"Don't – " Leroy started but he couldn't stop it, the tears that Vince had been fighting to hold back at last began to seep past his lashes. He wasn't howling or proper screaming and wailing. He was crying, but it wasn't how he'd thought it would be. It was the same strange hollowness he'd felt when he'd kicked Howard out, when he'd heard Howard leave the Nabootique, when he'd sat alone in _their_ room and realised with a jolt that it was just _his_ now. Only he hadn't cried then, and he was now - they just seemed to roll down his cheeks and his breathing hitched.

"We – we had to go. Naboo – he was in trouble. He'd got in trouble, and we all had to go. They were gonna kill us, Naboo said – I didn't think. Howard – He – He and Naboo, they made me forget. Everything. Howard left me, Leroy, and Naboo made me forget him. I didn't get to choose, they just took him away from me." He properly broke down then, holding his head in his hands and shaking. He felt Leroy's nervous hand on his shoulder and that fact he was dumping everything on Leroy once again made everything worse.

"I had this whole new life, Leroy and I remembered nothing of this one. It was proper gone. I would have told you, but it all happened so fast. I didn't know what was going on, but Howard – Howard used it, he ran off by himself. It was always us; we've always been together. Always, but he didn't want that anymore. He ran off and left me and made me forget everything. But we remembered, they found us, we found each other again, I found him. I didn't know I did, but I did. And Naboo he was chasing us and so was Bainbridge and everything and then I remembered him, I remembered everything it all just came undone and I remembered he left me. He saved me though. Bainbridge caught me and Howard rescued me. He _rescued _me, after he was the one. He left me. But he was here. He rescued me and he was here and he was Howard, not his other life – but I told him to go. I told him to live his other life, Leroy. Cos he was happy in it. He was, you should have seen him. I couldn't take that away from him."

Leroy was quiet, watching Vince with his kind eyes and Vince just stared, waiting for him to say something, yearning for the sound to come back.

"It'll be okay, Vince." It was such a simple sentence it was obvious that Leroy had no idea what to say, there _was_ nothing to say.

Vince nodded and finally, after Naboo and Bollo had told him so many times – finally he believed it.

It was going to be all right.

^(*)^

Howard stopped as he heard Naboo's voice echo from Vince's room. Howard frowned, Naboo never went anywhere near their rooms – he ranted and raved at them in the lounge when he needed, any other time and the Shaman and his familiar stuck to the loft or were out anyway. Even stranger there was no sound of Bollo anywhere. Howard stopped midway up the corridor, Vince's voice echoing through the wall.

"Sometimes I just wish I could forget him and everything he's put me through, the bloody giant jazz addled tit! I used to know what I was doing, I used to –" he stopped, taking a shaky breath in, Howard could hear the sadness in his voice and it sounded like he meant every word. "We've _ruined_ it."

Howard felt the world reel, all he could think echoing with those words, those broken honest words echoing out in that cockney slang – _we've ruined it_ and the fact those words were spoken not to him at all – but Naboo and instead of jealousy all he could feel was this vague horror and this unintentional voice ringing out – _maybe he's right. _

"You need to talk to Howard about this, Vince. He's a ballbag but he ain't _just_ a ballbag. He's alright when he's not a pretentious ballbag."

"He don't pretend to be a ball bag, Naboo – "

"That's not what I meant, but there's not much I can do about it. I'll talk to the Board of Shaman. Tony might have an idea."

"Thanks Naboo – " Howard could almost _see_ the small thankful smile that would accompany Vince's thanks. But he couldn't feel much as the words faded out and he watched, sinking back into the shadows, as Naboo left Vince's room and disappeared down the stairs.

Howard's brain felt empty as he walked across the room, away from the door – he felt entirely hollow and the well of _needing_ to do something rose up in him and he set about stacking the cutlery and cups in the sink, filling the sink with water so hot it steamed across the surface; he couldn't feel it when he started to wash either, his hands scalding red, but he still couldn't feel a thing. The movement felt soothing, the continuous repetition of wash and dry and stack away for each consecutive item Vince used and then discarded around the flat and that Bollo would pick up religiously.

Vince's door snapped against the wall as the smaller man emerged and he stopped short as he looked up and saw Howard at the sink, Howard looked away before he could meet his friends eyes. He looked incredibly small, standing in his own doorway. His hair looked frazzled from the hairdryer and without his layers of war paint he just looked… small. It was like the suit of armour had fallen away and Howard realised with a jolt he was seeing Vince as he was, just the tiny little man he just _was_ and that person, that Vince, he – Howard - had fallen in awe of all those years ago had changed and mutated and yet was still just as fragile as he had been all those years ago. But he _had_ changed and mutated and the Vince _this_ Howard knew wasn't the same one perched on his bed. That Vince was the Vince no one saw. Not even Howard. Vince was for all things more naked than he had ever been and he was just a few feet away and it was startling and Howard couldn't even work up the courage and look at him properly.

He looked away quickly, going back to his washing up.

Vince was quiet and Howard could feel eyes on his back, but he still didn't turn around and Vince didn't move, like some stupid checkmate where neither of them knew they were playing at all.

"You alright, Little Man?" Howard asked finally, still refusing to turn around.

"You weren't – " Vince said, stopping and then, hearing that unsure twinge in his voice Howard turned around. Vince met his eyes then, his lip firmly between his teeth and he just looked utterly lost. It was alarming and neither of them moved, trapped in each other's eyes and then the kettle boiled and began to whistle, shattering the silence like a sledge hammer. Vince looked flustered for a second and then as if realising what they were doing he shook himself, gathering all the broken pieces together. "I gotta meet Leroy," his voice trailed off as he turned and disappeared up the hall towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a little too much haste. Howard stared at Vince's empty space then, the tiny click jolting through him as the smaller man locked himself away, signalling more than just a need for space in painting Dorian's portrait, it was something far more substantial; something with far too much congealed meaning, something far too final, but it was strangely on Howard's end. Vince was so flayed open, so vulnerable and instead of talking it out, instead of finding some comfort in Howard, he was going out, he was painting himself up and following Leroy into the shadowed pulsing heathenistic underbelly of Shoreditch; he was going out amongst his people, his subjects where he was adored but not loved.

He had given up on Howard, and that tiny click of the door honed that home like a hammer against a nail in plywood. Howard felt something snap between them and not even a brew could fix this one.

^(*)^

Despite his intent to just... let go, he couldn't. No matter what Bollo did, or anything that Leroy could say he couldn't push everything away and he didn't know where the idea came from, and he didn't know why he was adhering to it, all he knew was that he was, that he had to and there was nothing going to stop him. He knew, in a way, he needed it probably more than Howard did.

Vince stared up at the looming building with his lip firmly between his teeth, rocking back on the heels of his boots, his brain hitting its head against the doors of his closet trying to get things working, like an outfit that needed something else, like that hat he still had to finish paying off... like any good ensemble he needed to finish everything, close off every branch on the option tree. It needed to be done and then perhaps Howard would know he didn't really mean everything he said if he gave him one last thing – a thank you, a goodbye…

Regardless of what it actually meant, it needed to be done and Howard was too useless to do it on his own; he'd always needed help ever since those early days when he'd spent thirty minutes trying to set up his music stand he got for his birthday and simply couldn't. He'd always needed help in some way, and Vince couldn't escape the knowledge that he'd always been there – ready when Howard needed him, and Howard needed him. The memory of James' debt rising up out of Nate's memories and into Vince's, impossible to erase once at the top and it was just right this way; he could stave off the guilt, the pathetic second guessing, the wishing he hadn't done what he did – he could clean his slate, give Howard room to do everything he always wanted, and then … walk away forever.

He was here, he'd made his decision, Vince walked inside with a determined frown.

Howard needed this, that was all he had to focus on. Howard needed it. He was doing it for Howard and then they could go their separate ways and Howard would be fine, they could forget each other and have no worries to bring back past regrets. It would all work out in the end, after all, he was the Sunshine Kid.

^(*)^

"Howard, there's a letter here for you from the bank," Court said, handing over the plain envelope as Howard stared blankly at the blank television screen. He still wasn't used to having Court call him Howard and then pass him mail addressed to James Fountain, but he opened it anway, feeling James start to worry in the back of his mind as he started to read.

_Dear Mr Fountain, _

_We would like to thank you for finalising your final payment on loan No. 345465646 as paid on Thursday…" _Howard stared down at the page.

He stared between the page and the phone. There must be some mistake.

"Howard?" Court asked as he rushed across the room and picked up the phone, dialling the number set out in Aerial number 10 across the top of the page.

"Yes this is – it's James Fountain, I need to speak to someone about my loan." He stuttered down the line. Court was looking at him, her brown eyes creased in confusion and she was biting the nail on her index finger.

"How can I help you Mr Fountain?" A prim voice echoed down the line.

"Yes, I received a letter today saying my loan has been completed."

"Yes Mr Fountain, we were pleased to have your services with us. Everything went well I assume, the payment went through so there is nothing to worry about."

"So it was paid?"

"In full, Mr Fountain as a err, Mr Noir stated. That is correct, Mr Fountain?"

"Yes, that's all – err, correct. Thank you – "

Howard clicked off the phone before the man finished speaking.

"Howard?" Court asked, peering at him.

"He paid it," he whispered, stunned.

"What?"

"He paid it,"

"Who paid it?"

"My loan, he paid it."

"_Who?"_

"Vince," Howard murmured reverently.

"_Vince_," and as that name left his lips a second time Howard felt his own need for some sort of sign Vince still felt exactly the same as he had all those months ago now – the sign that he still cared, the sign from somewhere beyond Howard's control that it was meant to happen this way – the sign Vince loved him and that _James_ was wrong – he felt it fade away after the rippling voice _as a Mr Noir stated._ Vince had paid his loan, had extended the hand one way and right then Howard knew exactly what he had to do. The phone went back on the hook, the letter down on the table. Court stared at him, confusion plain in her eyes.

"Howard?"

"I have to go," he murmured, going over to her and kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"I have to find him."

She nodded then, and he smiled at her, brushing her hair behind her ear and hoping that she understood and the tiny smile that followed made his heart pound, thankful that despite everything that had happened, that he was, she knew. She _knew. _

She _understood._ And she didn't hate him.

She understood and now so did he, and as he picked up his keys and ran down the stairs towards his van, away from the flat with it's single bedroom, with it's huge bookcase and brown colour scheme, away from James' life and now full to bursting with the knowledge of who he was.

For the first time in his life he knew exactly where he was going and he knew who he was.

He was Howard Moon, and he was Vince Noir's.


	10. What we're meant to be

**AN:**** I've actually had this written for about a year and a half now and the simple reason it wasn't put up is because basically I forgot to upload the last chapter. WHOOPS. **

**Sorry Sorry to everyone who read the rest of it, I hope you enjoy the ending.**

**xxx**

**101  
**

**Chapter Ten**

**What we're meant to be**

_How can I just let you walk away?_

_Just let you leave without a trace,_

_when I stand here taking every breath with you;_

_you're the only one who really knew me at all._

_So take a look at me now_

Phil Collins

* * *

Howard swore for the fourth time in as many blocks as the traffic came to

another stop. Court's voice was still ringing in his ears as he hit the steering wheel in

frustration.

"Go and get him, Howard."

The traffic moved a little and then stopped. Howard swore again. He was getting

nowhere and was ready to get out and run the rest of the way when the cars suddenly

revved forward and Howard was practically flying through the last two streets,

screeching to a stop outside the shop with a jerk. The door slammed behind him as he

leapt out of the car, but that was as far as his adrenaline was going to take him.

He stopped dead, like a clockwork toy out of turn.

He stared up at the Nabootique, with it's faded red front and peeling yellow letters, at

the newspaper still decorating the windows. It was exactly the same as it had been

before, no difference in the front of the shop saying that all three missing persons had

for lack of a better phrase risen from the dead. Looking higher the only change in the

flat, the only show of life was an upstairs window pulled open, a fuchsia gossamer

curtain peeking through on a faint breeze.

If anyone would know where Vince was, Naboo would, but simply being back made

Howard's pulse race. He gulped and with a quick check for traffic walked slowly

across the road, up over the curb and straight up to the door, rapping with quick

succession in two four time against the glass.

A few moments later a shadow leapt up against the newspaper on the other side and

the door opened a fraction before it swung open and Howard gulped again.

"Oh, it's you," Naboo said, sounding bored, as though he knew it had been Howard.

"I need to speak to you. I need you to help me find Vince."

"He's here." Naboo shrugged.

"Here?"

"Upstairs," he said, leaving Howard standing in the doorway of the shop as he

disappeared back up the stairs.

Howard moved slowly across the threshold, staring around the shop. It was exactly

the same as it had been almost a week ago when he and Vince had run out, run away

from Saboo and Kirk; not even the trinkets had been put back in their place on the

shelves.

Howard took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. His boots made odd

clicking noises on the lino as he crossed the room and bent down to pick up the

scattered trinkets. They almost seemed to give him a small reassuring smile as he set

them back in their place on the shelves. He stood back and admired them for a

moment. The shop was silent and there seemed to be an absence of noise from the flat

as well. He needed another shaky breath before he turned and could move through the

beads and up onto the stairs.

His loitered time seemed to make the simple task of walking up the stairs twice as

hard; he was shaking as he climbed, his mind buzzing. What if Vince threw

everything back in his face? What if the younger man didn't want anything at all to do

with him, not even an apology? What if that affection had been all Nate's? What if

what he had said before was true? What if it wasn't? His heart seemed to be thumping

in his throat as he stepped onto the landing and turned to face the flat. The thumping

stopped immediately as he looked up and met Vince's eyes. The younger man was

standing awkwardly beside the kitchen table, a cup of tea sitting at his left. He was

biting his lip and his eyes were oddly glazed. It took a moment for Howard to realise

what that look added up to.

Vince was scared.

"You paid my loan," he blurted out stupidly, regretting it the moment it escaped his

lips. Vince blinked, once, twice, before looking at Naboo and then back at Howard,

completely silent, clutching the table like it was tethering him to the world.

"I'll leave you two muppets to it. Just don't break anything." Naboo deadpanned,

rolling his eyes as he disappeared into his bedroom. Howard didn't think all of a

sudden he could open his mouth without fear of being sick, and Vince didn't say a

word as the sound of Naboo's door closing echoed about the room. Howard looked

back at Vince, who was still worrying his bottom lip.

He took a breath.

"You paid my loan," he repeated, "Why?"

"I owed a big fare," Vince whispered, tentatively meeting Howard's eyes and then

slipping them back to the floor.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

"Why?" Vince's eyes narrowed and he looked up at Howard. Howard took a step

backwards. Vince's eyes were icy; narrowed and harsh and Howard felt an inch tall.

"If you're worried about staying in touch with me, don't be. You don't owe me

nothing, James," Vince sneered with a flamboyant turn and stalked across the room a

little, flopping down on the couch with his back firmly turned towards Howard.

Howard stared down at his shoes for a moment, trying to find some inspiration from

his boring brown loafers. None came. He looked up; light flickered off the sequins

sewn on the collar of the black velvet jacket Vince was wearing. A small smile perked

Howard's lips, Vince was always the shining one; that was who they were, Vince

shone, and he … didn't. There was definite comfort in that, there was a reason he

hadn't performed in the club James did every Friday, the reason he'd, God forbid,

gone shopping because he couldn't stand what was in James' wardrobe, there was a

reason he'd worked up a week's worth of second guessing and was standing here in

the middle of their flat, above the Nabootique staring at the back of Vince's head.

"Vince," he murmured, stepping forward, but the smaller man didn't turn around.

"Vince – "

"I ain't got nothing to say to you, James. So there's no point. I said it all before. So

you may as well go. Cause I ain't gonna talk to you. There ain't nothing to say. So

just leave me alone, yeah?"

Howard shuffled his feet.

"I came here to thank you."

"I don't need your thanks; it's just business, right? I paid for your services, James.

That's what you do, ain't it? Only give when you're getting paid? When you haven't

got anything to lose - "

A long buried memory flashed across Howard's mind, of a large woman an alley way

and the promise of a thousand Euro's, a head of black hair, the feel of it between his

fingers, soft lips on his own and then icy eyes and sharp words with sharper blows -

He gulped. The words hurt - whether he was James or Howard - but the slump in

Vince's shoulders told Howard it was hurting Vince more to say them.

"Vince – " he said, reaching out to touch the younger man on the shoulder when

Vince spun around and stood up, once again fuming.

"No! We've been through this already. I paid your stupid load, alright? I paid it cause

you can't! I paid it cause you're hopeless! You can't meet people's eyes and you're a

rubbish salesman and you're pretty rubbish at a lot of stuff but I love you and I don't

want no bankers taking away your car or whatever Naboo's got you paying off.

You're happy, and I don't want to ruin that. So I paid it, alright! You don't owe me

nothing. I don't want nothing, 'cept you happy - so I paid you! I paid you, so why're

you here? I was there for twenty years, Howard – for ages and you never cared

before! Never cared about me! You obviously weren't happy! When it came down to

it, when you got the chance you just ran off, so run off again, yeah? What else do you

want from me? You've got everything you wanted, friends – girls, jazz! Fame! People

come to your gigs, right? Why're you here if you got everything you want?"

"Because I don't!"

"Well I don't have any more to give you! I can't give you anything when you ain't

Howard! I couldn't even give you everythin' when you were! You ran off cause I'm a

tit and you didn't want to be round me no more! I hung round with you for so long I

gave up everythin' I got offered, but you ran out on me! I tried given you everythin'

but I couldn't, and now you got it all on your own! So why're you here, Howard?"

"I don't have everything I want, Vince. Because- " Say it, say it, say it, the voice

screamed. "Because I don't have you." He wasn't yelling anymore. It didn't warrant

yelling.

Vince looked nonplussed, then shook his head and backed away.

"Yeah, course Howard. Whatever."

"That's why I'm here. I miss you, Vince."

"Well it ain't about missing me. You chucked me out, remember? You didn't want

me. You wanted your life, so here it is!"

"Vince – "

"No,"

"You made your choice – "

"Vince – "

"No, Howard! I loved you – for years. We were yin and yang, yeah! But you left me,"

there were tears shining in Vince's eyes and Howard swallowed his heart back down.

He stepped forward; they were so close now he could feel Vince's laboured breathing

shuddering through him.

Vince took a deep breath and spoke again, so, so softly Howard could barely hear it.

"You left; when I needed you, you left. So I'd appreciate it if you left again, and this

time didn't come back, yeah?"

"Vince – "

"No! No, Howard! You just don't ge - mmmph!" There was a pace between them and

Howard closed it in a second, intent on doing to the one thing he'd spent a week

trying not to fantasise about, trying not to remember - he pressed his lips against

Vince's. He held Vince and kissed him, hoping that the smaller man could read the

apology, the hope, the fear – the love he was trying desperately to say, but lacked the

words. He kissed hard, and he kissed with his all against the soft unmoving lips. And

then, slowly, with a tiny sob Vince gave in, and those soft lips kissed back and it was

like before and it was all new at the same time and as Howard pulled back, breathing

hard, gasping for air the world was perfect for one single illustrious moment before

reality forced them back to earth.

They were both quiet a moment, staring into each others eyes, searching for

something to say, but neither having a clue, too terrified to think. Just one wrong

word, just one and it could all crumble. Neither moved except for their wracked

breathing, chests heaving and eyes staring deep, then, all of a sudden, it clicked.

Vince uttered a tiny sigh and leant down, pressing a tiny kiss onto Howard's mouth

and rested his forehead against Howard's.

"You called me Howard," Howard smiled, tentatively moving his hands up to Vince's

face, running his hand through Vince's hair, down the side of Vince's face, slow,

tracing the angle of his cheekbone further down to his jaw and then resting in the lull

of Vince's neck and shoulder.

"I know," Vince murmured, grasping his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes

clenched firmly shut. Howard stared at him, how his nose jutted out at that strange

angle, how his lashes pressed tight against his cheeks like small dark fans, how his

lips curved around his teeth, red rushing in to fill his lips dark as he released his hold.

"You're not leaving me again, are you?" he asked softly, peering up at Howard with

fear in his eyes.

"Never, Little Man. Never."

Vince's frown slackened and his tearful eyes shone. Howard laughed, shaky and

breathless, Vince joined in, the sound like Christmas bells and he launched himself at

Howard, hugging him tightly. Niether spoke for a moment, but like all things, it

couldn't be ignored and Howard's heart thudded painfully as he listened to the air

hitch in Vince's throat as he worked up the courage to ask.

"Why did you forget me, Howard?" he whispered in the Northerner's ear.

Howard ran his hand through Vince's hair once more, letting the feel of it store once

again to memory. Breathing in the scent of him, taking in the feel of him, pressed

tight and perfect against him, no fear of contact, no rules – no 'don't touch me'

anywhere close to his lips, or his heart.

"Because I couldn't run away while I remembered you," he whispered back.

"While I loved you."

Vince smiled into the crook of Howard's neck, his breathing tickling the side of

Howard's neck in tiny flutters.

"I love you too, y'know." Vince whispered, "even if you dressed better before."

Howard laughed, and between them they felt the bridge begin to mend. No where

close to perfect, no where close to immediate, but it was beginning and it was enough.

^(*)^

Some things are meant to be, like the rainbow that followed the rain, like the applause

after Vince's first gig back at the Onion, like Howard's eternally unsold jazz section.

As the future dawned on the Nabootique, the old building sighed, content and happy

with the precious things meant to be within it's walls; the smell of a hookah long

abandoned filled Naboo's bedroom with a hazy covering of smoke, the tiny Shaman

leaning on his gorilla familiar with a small secret smile lost in the scent of past and

present combined. Down the hall in a shared bedroom, two bodies lay tangled, fully

clothed but entwined, the sound of each other's soft breathing, their strong beating

hearts serenading them in slumber. Their hands and hearts linked.

As the sun shone through the front glass of the Nabootique, the newspaper fell away

from the window, the dust sparkled in the sunlight. Objects sat in their assigned

places, once again smiling, the air tingling with the power of what had been and what

was only to come. Satisfied how things had finally achieved their end. Upstairs the

sleeping pair slowly slipped towards consciousness, blinking and smiling in the eve of

another day.

The Nabootique shone, feeding on the power of affection, of friendship, of loyalty and

the love shared between its walls, a love tested and tried and destined to be tried

again, but a love proved impossible to forget.

Humans really were too complex for their own good.

But luckily some things are meant to be, and the Nabootique breathed a sigh as

Howard Moon brushed the dark hair away from a sharp cheekbone and Vince Noir

leaned over and pressed a sweet kiss to his lovers lips.

The wheel had turned, and all was well.

For now, and that's all that mattered.

* * *

_The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out_

_You left me in the dark_

_2o dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight_

_In the shadow of your heart_

_And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat_

_I tried to find the sound_

_But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,_

_So darkness I became_

_The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out_

_You left me in the dark_

_2o dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight_

_In the shadow of your heart_

_I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map_

_And knew that somehow I could find my way back_

_Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too_

_So I stayed in the darkness with you_

**Florence and the Machine**

**Cosmic Love**


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